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CURLY 

OF THE CIRCLE BAR 
























































































• ' 














































“Will yuh gentlemen kindly elevate your hands?’ 


CURLY 

OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


BY 

JOSEPH B. AMES 

Author of “The Mystery of Ram Island,” 
“Under Boy Scout Colors,” etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

CLYDE FORSYTHE 



APPROVED BY THE 
“BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA” 


NEW YORK 
THE CENTURY CO. 
1919 , 

oy 


Zt 

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Copyright, 1919, by 
The Centuby Co. 


Copyright, 1918, 1919, Boys’ Life 
The Boys Scoot Magazine 

Published, September, 1919 


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SCI.A529864 ' 


Recorded 




TO 

THE MEMORY OF 











4 








I 













• * 











CONTENTS 


chapter page 

I Once Too Often 3 

II Flight 12 

III An Old Friend 21 

IV The Circle Bar 29 

V The Dance That Never Was ... 38 

VI Pedro 45 

VII The Way of a Greaser 58 

VIII Thirteen Rattles and a Button . . 68 

IX The Shot in the Dusk 77 

X Wounded 90 

XI Mystery 98 

XII Mr. Kerns Arrives 107 

XIII The Baiting of Clarence .... 118 

XIV Black Devil, Outlaw 126 

XV The Face in the Moonlight . . . 134 

XVI The Mystery Deepens 145 

XVII Heading South 153 

XVIII The Tin Box 160 

XIX The Cup and the Lip 169 


CONTENTS 


chapter Rage 

XX Trapped 176 

XXI The Hand of a Child 183 

XXII An Old Score 192 

XXIII Paul Graham’s Secret 203 

XXIV The Search for a Name 213 

XXV John Popham, Attorney .... 223 

XXVI After Fifteen Years 231 

XXVII The Deserted Flat 239 

XXVIII The End of the Search 248 

XXIX Ever Afterward 257 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“Will yuh gentlemen kindly elevate your 

hands V 9 Frontispiece 

FACING 

PAGE 

As the echoes of the last shot died away, he held his 
breath, waiting for a reply 8 

When he reached the flats, he paused to reconnoitre 16 

A sudden burning pain like the searing of a red hot 

iron bit through his shoulder 88 

With a scream of rage, the horse dropped his head 
and began to pitch 132 

Loaded quirt in hand, Curly leaped at him . . . 200 

The lawyer pounced eagerly on the letters . . . 228 

Dorothy found his eyes fixed on her with a look of 
wistful tenderness 260 



CURLY 

OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

























CURLY 

OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


CHAPTER I 

ONCE TOO OFTEN 

A FTER a momentary lull, the crack of shots 
sounded through the hot, still air with sharp 
distinctness. The ping of flying bullets was like 
the vibrations of a taut steel wire. Two of them 
thudded into the door post; the third plowed 
through the flimsy door, shattered the lamp on the 
table, and buried itself in the hard earthen wall 
beyond. 

It was, after all, rather a waste of good ammuni- 
tion. Some other bullet had done the work quite 
thoroughly, and the cause of that mad outbreak of 
lawlessness lay motionless, face downward, under 
the table. One arm was doubled under him, the 
other outstretched with rigid fingers still gripping 
an empty six-shooter. There was no mistaking 
the pose of that long length of brown chaps, blue 
flannel shirt and dark, rumpled hair. He had 
fought his last fight. Whether it was a case of just 

3 


4 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


retribution or a tragical blunder of well-meant 
zeal, it was all the same to him now, for nothing 
mattered. 

But in a little thicket of mesquite, not a stone’s 
throw from the cabin door, there crouched one who 
was very much alive indeed, and to whom every 
move in the game was of vital, vivid interest. As 
he huddled close to the ground, the stunted bushes 
barely reached above the matted tangle of his 
tawny hair. One side of his grime-streaked face 
showed an ugly bruise. The collar of his shirt 
was gone, and the right sleeve torn bodily away 
at the shoulder. There was a strained look in his 
eyes, and as the echoes of the last shot died away 
he held his breath, waiting anxiously for the re- 
ply. When moment after moment passed in si- 
lence he stirred uneasily. 

“ I guess they ’ve got him,” he muttered, peer- 
ing through the leaves. He could see nothing of 
the cow-punchers, who were on the other side of 
the cabin, and as he shifted his position restlessly 
there was a puzzled expression in his gray eyes. 
“I ’m not as glad as I ought to be,” he murmured. 
“I wonder why?” 

For the past hour events had moved so swiftly 
that there had been little time to think. But now, 
at the first lull, his mind flew back to the moment of 
his awakening that morning. There had been no 


ONCE TOO OFTEN 


5 


preliminary yawning or stretching. He had 
opened his eyes abruptly and found himself look- 
ing straight into the face of Jerry Harden, who 
stood a few feet away from the bunk. 

This in itself was not unusual. He had always 
known Jerry. For as many of his sixteen years 
as he could remember they had lived together and 
the boy had learned to take the other’s frequent 
abuse and roughness with the hardened calm of one 
who accepts the chaff with the wheat. He had 
known the man in various states of intoxication 
and was used to the effect of an unbridled temper 
on the fellow at all times. But this morning there 
was a glare in the cold eyes, an ominous twitching 
of the hard mouth, which sent an unwonted shiver 
of fear tingling on the boy’s spine. 

“Well, going to lie abed all day?” snarled 
Harden suddenly. 

The words snapped from his twitching lips in 
much the same way that the empty shells shot out 
of the cylinder of his Colt. The boy sprang to his 
feet. 

“N-o,” he stammered. “I — I just waked up.” 

“Huh!” The man jammed a greasy rag on a 
bit of wire into the gun-barrel. “Where ’s the 
cartridges ? Not them, you fool ! ’ ’ His voice rose 
in a sudden shriek of senseless fury. “Where ’s 
your eyes? Forty --fives! 1 7 


6 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


With trembling fingers the boy snatched the 
right box from a shelf and handed it to Jerry, only 
to receive a blow across his face which knocked him 
headlong. As he scrambled to his feet, one hand 
involuntarily against his cheek, Harden stared at 
him with narrowing eyes. His fingers were busy 
slipping cartridges into the gun. 

“That ’s nothin ’ to what you ’ll get the next 
time,” he said ominously. “You pull the saddle 
off ’n that horse out there and get it onto Badger. 
If you ’re more ’n three minutes about it they ’ll be 
your last three. Savvy?” 

The boy was out of the door like a flash and at 
the side of the horse that stood there with sides 
heaving. He hadn’t the least doubt that Jerry 
would keep his word, and so great was his haste 
that he had the cinch unbuckled and the bridle 
reins in his hand before he realized that, not only 
had he never seen either horse or saddle before, 
but that his hand, which had rested on the saddle- 
skirt, was smeared with red. For an instant he 
stood looking stupidly at it, his heart going like 
a trip-hammer. Then he hastily yanked the sad- 
dle off, dropped it to the ground, snatched the 
bridle, and flew toward the lean-to back of the 
cabin for his rope. 

He had scarcely dived into it when he whirled 


ONCE TOO OFTEN 


7 


around and stood listening. Faintly at first, but 
growing rapidly clearer, came the dull beat of 
horses galloping over the sandy bottom of the 
canyon. With a quick-drawn breath the boy 
darted behind the door and peered through the 
crack. Louder came the sound, and louder still. 
Then suddenly he saw them, a dozen or fifteen cow- 
punchers riding at top speed in a long, wavering 
line, the ends of which converged as they neared 
the cabin. 

The boy’s first instinctive impulse was to shout 
a warning to Jerry. Then he realized that it was 
too late. The man was caught like a rat in a 
trap ; he himself had a bare chance to escape if he 
took it quickly. He knew well enough what to ex- 
pect if the cow-punchers came upon him all blood- 
stained as he was, and with swift, silent steps he 
reached a small window at the back of the shed and 
drew himself up to it. As he did so a single shot 
rang out followed by a rattling fusillade. Fran- 
tically he squeezed into the window and tried to 
wriggle through, head first, then his left arm and 
shoulder. The sleeve of his shirt caught on a nail 
and tore with a ripping sound. Now his other 
shoulder was free and at length, with a squirming 
effort, he pulled his hips loose and tumbled in a 
heap back of the corral. 


8 


CUELY OF THE CIECLE BAE 


For a moment or two he lay there breathing 
hard. Then' he arose cautiously and feeling in- 
side the window secured the telltale sleeve. Stuff- 
ing that inside his shirt, he dropped to the ground 
and began crawling toward a clump of bushes 
which grew close to the steep side of the canyon. 
He reached them safely and for a long time he lay 
there frantic with impatience at his inability to 
find out anything that was going on. He was not 
surprised at what had happened. The wonder was 
that it had not come before. Jerry had certainly 
taken chances enough. For a while the shots con- 
tinued fiercely. Then they died down and finally 
ceased altogether. Presently three more rang out. 
There was no answer. 

Ten minutes later the sound of voices told him 
that some of the men were entering the corral. 
Apparently they were examining the horses, for 
they came nearer and nearer. At length the boy 
recognized the voice of the wagon boss of the F. 
M, one of the largest outfits in Midland County, 
and the one which had suffered most from Jerry 
Harden’s depredations. 

‘ i Shorty must have caught him with the goods, 
all right. He had six of the stock out of North 
Pasture. ’ 9 

“How d’ yuh know that?” inquired a strange 
voice. “Shorty live to give evidence?” 


As the echoes of the last shot died away he held his breath, waiting for a reply 





ONCE TOO OFTEN 


9 


“Nothin’ like it. He didn’t last five minutes 
from the look of the wound. Harry seen the 
horses runnin ’ wild down by the river. ’ ’ 

“How ’d yuh know it was this fellow?” 

“By his horse. Shorty must have shot it as he 
went down, ’cause there he lay with saddle an’ 
bridle on, and the cuss took Shorty’s Monte. I 
seen him by the door as we rid up. We ’ve had 
our eyes on this Harden, though, for some while. 
Wonder where that boy of his — Jim — is? I ’d 
sure like to get a hold of him. They ’re two of a 
kind, all right. ’ ’ 

The boy’s eyes narrowed as he listened. 

“We ’ll get him sooner or later,” commented 
the other man. They were moving away by this 
time. ‘ ‘ What are you goin ’ to do with his stock ? ’ ’ 
“Leave it here till the sheriff comes. Tom ’s 
gone to Midland after him. I ’m goin’ back — ” 
The words died away in a murmur as the men 
departed and presently silence fell. Crouching on 
the ground, Jim was thinking rapidly. Plainly 
this was no. place for him and the sooner he got 
away the better. The difficult part, of course, 
would be to secure a horse. He wondered how 
long the boys would stay there, and whether they 
would leave any one behind to keep watch and 
look after things while they were gone. Midland 
was thirty miles away and the sheriff could 


10 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

scarcely be reached before late in the afternoon. 
Quite possibly he would not arrive until the next 
morning, so there was a fair chance of catching 
a horse after dark and slipping away unseen. He 
felt no compunctions in taking one. The stock 
belonged to Jerry — at least some of it did — and 
he surely had as much right to a horse as the 
sheriff. 

As the hours passed he began to grow intoler- 
ably thirsty and hungry, and at length, about 
three o’clock, he could stand it no longer and de- 
cided to reconnoitre. Carefully crawling out of 
the bushes he reached the corner of the corral 
fence and peered around it. From where he lay 
he could see one side of the dugout and the sandy, 
level stretch leading down to the entrance of the 
canyon. Only the immediate front of the cabin 
was hidden, and it seemed very unlikely that so 
many men would be crowded into that small space ; 
he was quite sure they wouldn’t be inside. For 
ten minutes he lay still, listening for any sound 
of talking, and then had just about decided to ven- 
ture from cover when he noticed in the corral, 
with Jerry’s stock, a strange horse bearing the 
F. M. brand. 

“I ’m a good one!” he muttered sarcastically. 
“ A minute more and I ’d have walked into him like 
a cute little boy going to Sunday School.” His 


ONCE TOO OFTEN r ll 

forehead wrinkled anxiously. ‘ ‘ W onder where the 
deuce he ’s keeping himself f ’ ’ 

Raising himself from the ground, his eyes darted 
keenly over every visible nook and corner of the 
canyon. The steep, rocky sides were bare and 
open, the only vegetation being the clump of mes- 
quite he had just left. No one in his right senses 
would stay five minutes on the sandy bottom of 
the canyon, all aglare in the hot September sun. 
The corral was out of the question. 

‘ ‘ Reckon he must be in front of the cabin, just 
outside the door,” he thought finally. “It 
would n ’t be a bad time to sneak my saddle out of 
the shed while he ’s out of sight. ’ ’ 

Reaching the corner of the lean-to, he rose to 
his feet and started around to the door. Midway 
he stopped suddenly, tiptoed back to the window 
and looked in. Like a flash he ducked, for just 
inside the door, his head pillowed on a rolled-up 
slicker, lay one of the F. M. cow-punchers fast 
asleep. 


CHAPTER II 


FLIGHT 

A FTER that first moment of startled surprise, 
Jim breathed a sigh of relief. While this 
new development made it difficult or impossible to 
get his saddle, it was a great deal to have located 
the guard and to know that the way to the cabin 
was clear. Rapidly he skirted the corral fence and 
approached the door from the other side. On the 
threshold he hesitated a moment and then stepped 
inside. Jerry still lay where he had fallen, and 
as the boy stood looking down on him he felt a 
lump rising in his throat and his eyelids stung. 
During the years of close intimacy Jerry had 
shown him a good deal of rough kindness, and it 
was this that Jim thought of now. 

“It ’s a darn shame !” he muttered, turning 
away abruptly. “He didn’t have a chance.’ ’ 

But there was no time to waste in vain regrets. 
Swiftly he set about collecting the things he 
needed. From the bunk he took a shirt and some 
small articles, and got his hat and chaps from be- 
hind the door. Jerry’s thirty-eight lay on the 
12 


FLIGHT 


13 


shelf, and with a belt and several boxes of car- 
tridges was quickly added to the pile. He stuffed 
one pocket with crackers and another with bacon, 
and then, after a moment’s thought, he went over 
to a corner and, stooping down, pulled one of the 
sods from its place. Reaching into the small 
cavity back of it, he drew out a roll of bills and a 
handful of silver which he thrust into his shirt. 
This done, he gathered everything into his arms 
and started for the door. There he stopped, hesi- 
tated and finally came slowly back. He dropped 
the armful on the table, and kneeling down, softly 
touched the crisp, black hair. 

“Good-bye, Jerry,” he whispered, in a voice 
which broke a little. 

Then, without a backward glance, he picked up 
his bundle and hurried out. Back in the bushes 
he changed his shirt and disposed the other things 
about him with the greatest haste, for he had de- 
termined to secure the saddle and get away at 
once. It was entirely too risky staying here. At 
any time the sheriff or some of the other men 
might show up, making it impossible for him to 
run a horse oijt. And without a horse he would 
be quite helpless. 

The saddle lay on the floor of the shed to the 
right of the door and not six feet from the sleep- 
ing man. As Jim studied the situation through 


14 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

the window, he almost despaired, for it seemed im- 
possible to carry it away without waking the cow- 
puncher. However, there was nothing to be 
gained by delay, and the heavy breathing of the fel- 
low was somewhat encouraging. So the boy pulled 
himself together and slipped noiselessly around 
to the door. He stood there for a moment holding 
his breath. Then he stepped lightly over the pros- 
trate form. With infinite care he lifted the saddle 
firmly by horn and cantle, steadied himself for an 
instant, then turned and stepped carefully out 
again. 

It seemed easy enough after it was done, but as 
he laid the saddle down by the corral gate and un- 
did the hook, the sweat stood out in beads on his 
forehead and his knees shook from the nervous 
strain. 

The rest was comparatively simple. Jim had 
his eye on Red Bird, a bright bay with plenty of 
speed and endurance, yet gentle enough to be 
caught without a rope. Within five minutes he 
was in the saddle guiding him carefully down the 
canyon. When he reached the flats he paused to 
reconnoitre, but there was no one in sight, and 
turning north he urged the horse to full speed. 

Twenty minutes later he drew rein at the mouth 
of a small canyon leading to the Conchas River, 
and started down it at a walk. It was a lonely 


FLIGHT 


15 


spot and would do very well as a refuge until lie 
could venture on under cover of the darkness. 
When he reached the water he leaped off and drop- 
ping down beside a boulder, he fell to on the 
crackers and bacon, which disappeared in very 
short order. There was a wait of half an hour or 
more before the sun set, but at length twilight be- 
gan to fall, and, mounting again, he urged Red 
Bird into the river. This was broad and shallow 
and easy to ford, and by the time he reached the 
flats beyond he could see barely a hundred yards 
ahead of him. 

He had determined to leave that part of Texas 
for good and all and strike out for himself where 
he was quite unknown. The step had been in his 
mind for some time, practically ever since that day 
several months ago when he had realized finally 
and definitely what he had been suspecting for an 
even longer period — that Jerry Harden’s modest 
ranching operations were not what they appeared 
to be on the surface. He wished now that he had 
run away before. If only he had gone when the 
idea first occurred to him he would have escaped 
this last catastrophe with its humiliations and 
danger. But until to-day he had not realized the 
extent to which the neighboring cow-punchers evi- 
dently classed him with the man he lived with. It 
hurt and horrified him, and for a long time as he 


16 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


flew northward over the silent, starlit prairie, the 
cool night wind cutting his face, he could think of 
nothing else. Then he began to wonder where 
Homer was. 

Two years before, while riding across one of the 
F. M. pastures, he had come upon a cow-puncher 
of about his own age trying to pull a steer out of 
the bog. It was an impossible task for one man, 
for the animal was well in to his shoulders, so Jim 
promptly took down his rope and together they 
worked for nearly an hour before they were suc- 
cessful. This acquaintance ripened into a friend- 
ship which lasted until Homer th}/ew up his job 
six months before and departed, leaving Jim dis- 
consolate at the loss. One short letter came a 
couple of months later from a ranch up in the Pan- 
handle. But though he answered it at once he 
never heard again. It was the hope of finding this 
friend more than anything else which headed him 
northward instead of toward New Mexico. 

All night long the boy rode steadily, stopping 
only at fences to take down the wire, and by day- 
break he had covered some thirty-five miles. As 
soon as it began to grow light, he dismounted and, 
tying Red Bird to a mesquite, threw himself on the 
ground and fell instantly asleep. When he awoke 
the sun was well up, so he did not delay, but ate 
the remainder of his crackers as he rode. 


When he reached the flats, he paused to reconnoitre 





































































FLIGHT 


17 


He was on Cross T. ground where he had been 
several times before in search of strays and about 
ten o’clock he encountered one of the men riding 
fence. From him he learned the location of the 
outfit and after a few minutes’ chat he headed in 
that direction, riding up to the chuck wagon just 
as the men were trooping in for dinner. He 
joined them with some slight trepidation, but evi- 
dently news of the tragedy to the southward had 
not yet reached this outfit. Jim explained his 
presence by saying that he had left Harden and 
was bound for the Panhandle, and after a hearty 
meal and an hour’s rest, he mounted and rode on 
again. 

He went without supper that night and break- 
fast the next morning, and when he struck one of 
the chuck wagons of the big X Bar Y outfit about 
eleven o’clock, he was too ravenous to wait for 
dinner and begged some bread from the cook. 
When the men came in a couple of hours later they 
showed no particular curiosity as to his presence 
there, and he stayed about the wagon for several 
hours, resting and chatting. Amongst other 
things he learned the disappointing fact that the 
L S ranch, from which Homer had written, was lo- 
cated in Randall County more than a hundred miles 
farther north. 

Toward the end of the afternoon three days 


18 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

later he rode up to the L S bunk-house and, slip- 
ping off his horse, opened the door. A young 
fellow of about twenty, sprawling on one of the 
beds, looked up enquiringly. 

44 Howdy,’ ’ said Jim casually. “Boss 

around ? ’ ’ 

“Why, yes, kid; at least he was five minutes ago. 
You ’ll have to step lively, though, ’cause I think 
he ’s goin’ to town. Lookin’ for a job?” 

Jim nodded. 

“Pretty full up now,” the other remarked, ly- 
ing back on the bed. “It won’t do no harm to 
try him, though. He ’s over in the ranch house.” 

Jim found him in the kitchen washing his face 
in a tin basin. He shook his head dubiously when 
the boy asked him about work. 

“Got about all the hands I want just now,” he 
said, reaching for a towel. “About the only thing 
I can give yuh is a job horse-wranglin’.” 

Jim hesitated. “Have you got a fellow named 
Homer Hoskins here?” he asked. 

4 4 Hoskins ? No ; he quit a couple of months ago ; 
said he was goin’ to the Matadores.” 

4 4 He was a chum of mine and I wanted to lo- 
cate him if I could, ’ ’ explained the boy. 4 4 Besides, 
I ’m not dead in love with horse wranglin ’ if I can 
get anything else.” 

4 4 Well, suit yourself.” The man stood with his 


FLIGHT 19 

hand on the latch. “If you change your mind let 
me know to-morrow.” 

He departed without further words and Jim, 
following slowly, watched him mount and disap- 
pear around the corner of the ranch house. Then 
he moved toward the bunk-house, discouraged and 
at a loss. The Matadores was a big outfit over in 
New Mexico. It was a long distance to travel on 
a chance, and Homer might never have gone there 
at all. Besides, he could not afford to go on look- 
ing for his friend indefinitely. He must find a 
job and begin to make his own way in life. That 
was the most important thing at present, and it be- 
gan to seem as if he would have to let the other go. 

“Any luck!” inquired the cow-puncher — Sam 
by name — as Jim entered the bunk-house. 

“Nothing but horse wrangling, and I ’m not 
stuck on that. ’ 9 

“No, nor nobody else.” Sam arose and 
stretched himself lazily. “It ’s a rotten job, and 
you don’t get the pay of a straight hand at that. 
Why don’t you try the Circle Bar, over in Old- 
ham,” he suggested, poking up the fire in the 
small, sheet-iron stove. “One of their men 
stopped here this mornin’ on his way to town, an’ 
I reckon his place ain’t filled yet.” 

Questioned, he furnished Jim with further de- 
tails of the outfit in question, and before he slept 


20. CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

that night the boy determined to try for a job 
there. They were both up early for Sam was re- 
turning to the round-up, and after a hearty break- 
fast Jim saddled up and left the ranch. Sam had 
given him accurate directions as to the location of 
the Circle Bar ranch, but the country was rough 
and broken and he lost his way several times. 
Consequently, it was dusk when Jim rode up to 
the bunk-house and slid off his horse. 

He was tired and cold and discouraged, and as 
he leaned wearily against Red Bird ’s neck the boy 
wondered whether he would have to ride on again 
next day. It seemed as if he had done nothing 
else but ride on for everlasting ages. Presently 
he gave the horse a pat, and, with a long sigh, 
stepped forward and opened the door. 


CHAPTER III 


AN OLD FRIEND 

T HE room was long and low and rather 
shadowy. In a rough stone fire-place at one 
end a fire gleamed, for the past few days had been 
raw and chilly, and sprawling lazily before it were 
three men. When the latch clicked they looked 
up, and for an instant, as Jim stood blinking in 
the firelight, no one spoke. Then suddenly one 
of the others leaped to his feet and made a dash 
at the newcomer. 

“Holy smoke !” he shouted. “If it ain’t 
Curly ! ’ ’ 

He smote the startled boy on the shoulder with 
staggering force, and snatching his hand pumped 
it up and down furiously. Jim stared at him 
dazedly for a moment. 

“Homer !” he gasped at length. “Why, I 
thought — I didn’t know — Gee! If I ’m not 
glad to see you ! 5 ’ 

Grinning broadly and retaining his hold on 
Jim’s shoulder, Homer pushed him toward the 
fire. He was a slim, good-looking boy with dark, 
wavy hair and brown eyes that had a twinkle in 
21 


22 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

them. His skin was clear and smooth, with a 
bright flush showing beneath the tan. He had also 
long curling lashes which gave him an innocent, 
almost girlish appearance that was most deceptive. 

“This is my side-partner, fellows/ ’ he an- 
nounced, as they joined the other two. “We used 
to run together a lot down in Midland. This tall, 
han’some Adonis, kid, is Kawikee. There ain’t 
a thing on earth he ’s scart of, exceptin’ his wife 
that he went an’ married sort of casual one night 
when he was a little too happy. When he come to 
he made a quick getaway and never stopped run- 
nin’ till he struck Texas. The other one with the 
high forehead is Baldy. He ain’t so good-lookin’, 
but he ’s all brain.” 

Both men grinned as they shook hands with 
Curly. Evidently they were used to Homer’s 
nonsense, for Baldy dropped lazily back on the 
floor without a word, while Kawikee contented him- 
self with a sudden, deft grab at Homer’s ankles 
which brought him down with a jarring thud. 
Curly settled himself beside the others, scarcely 
able to credit his good fortune. 

“Yuh shore look good to me, you old maver- 
ick,” Homer went on, giving his arm a squeeze. 
“I thought you ’d just about taken root in that 
hole down there. How ’d you come to hit the 
sod?” 


AN OLD FRIEND 


23 


“I had to,” answered Curly promptly. 

He had no intention of keeping back anything. 
After all, he had done nothing to be ashamed of, 
except, perhaps, in holding his tongue when he 
first learned of Jerry’s thieving propensities. So 
he outlined the incidents of his flight as briefly as 
he could and when he had finished the men were 
looking at him with considerably more interest 
than they had shown before. 

‘‘Well, what do you know about that!” ex- 
claimed Homer, his eyes wide with surprise. 
“Some excitement, eh! I always suspicioned that 
boss of yours wasn’t altogether on the square. 
You handled that getaway pretty nice, too. I 
reckon I couldn’t ’a done better myself.” He 
smiled engagingly. “What are yuh goin’ to do 
now! Brace Bert for a job!” 

“Bert!” 

“Bert Hanson, the boss. He ain’t a bad sort, 
and he ’ll take you on, too, ’cause he fired a couple 
of the Greasers last week, an’ Sourface quit day 
before yesterday. Go ahead, kid. We could have 
a dandy time.” His eyes sparkled at the possi- 
bilities. “We could certainly raise — ” 

“You sure would,” Baldy interrupted. “Lord 
knows you ’re bad enough by yourself, an ’ I ’d hate 
to think what the two of you ’d do.” 

“Aw, shucks, you old bluff!” Homer scoffed. 


24 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


“ You know right well life would n’t be worth livin’ 
without the little things I think of now and then 
to liven you up. ’ ’ 

“Now and then is good — distinctly good,” Kawi- 
kee grinned. “Why, infant, you ’re worse ’n a 
three-ring circus goin’ continuous. If you put 
over stunts any oftener — Wough! Help! Get 
off, yuh little devil!” 

A young tornado had landed suddenly on his 
stomach and for five minutes there was a whirl- 
wind of arms and legs. When this subsided Kawi- 
kee lay helpless from laughter with Homer astride 
of him, his fingers clutching the other’s ribs. 

“Oh, Lord!” gasped Kawikee. “Take him 
away, Baldy. ’ ’ 

Baldy calmly lit a cigarette. “Take him away 
yourself,” he returned composedly. “It ain’t 
none of my funeral. I notice yuh did n ’t do 
nothin’ when he had me roped yesterday.” 

“You — you looked — so — funny.” The words 
came in gasps. “Be nice, kid, an’ get up. I ’ll be 
good.” 

When quiet was restored, Homer turned to 
Curly as though there had been no interruption to 
the conversation. 

“You ’ll stay, won’t you?” he asked. 

Curly grinned. “Sure thing — if Hanson ’ll 
take me on.” 


AN OLD FRIEND 


25 


The general impression seemed to be that his 
chances were pretty good, but Bert had ridden in 
to town and would not be back till late, so the 
matter could not be settled definitely until morn- 
ing. After supper Homer and Curly settled down 
to talk and by the time they were ready to turn in 
they discussed in detail everything of importance 
that had happened to one or the other since their 
last parting. 

Curly awoke rather late next morning and found 
the bunk-house deserted by all save Homer, who 
still slept soundly beside him. As soon as he had 
hurried into his clothes, he proceeded to goad his 
friend into complete wakefulness and then fled 
to escape the resulting shower of missiles hurled 
at him. Dashing out of the door, he collided vio- 
lently with a man who was about to enter. 

“Gosh!” grunted the newcomer, reaching for 
his Stetson. “You ain’t any lightweight, young 
’un. ’ 9 

Curly caught his breath. “I didn’t see you 
cornin’,” he explained, showing a row of nice 
teeth. “I reckon you ’re Bert, aren’t you?” 

“You guessed right,” the man answered. He 
stood erect, hands on his hips. “What can I do 
for you?” 

Curly’s eyes gleamed. “Why, if you ’re lookin’ 
for a first-class hand, you can take me on.” 


26 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


Bert’s lips twitched as he looked the boy over 
appraisingly. He rather liked this youngster with 
the laughing gray eyes and the mass of curly yel- 
low hair, who stood before him full of the lithe, 
unconscious grace and alertness of youth and 
strength and glowing health. 

‘ 4 Well, I don’t know but I do need a man,” he 
remarked reflectively. ‘ i Of course you under- 
stand we don’t have nothin’ but first-class hands 
around here.” His eyes twinkled. 

The teeth gleamed again briefly. “Of course! 
That ’s why I came. I got kinda tired of the third- 
rate bunch down in Midland.” 

“Midland? What outfit?” 

“Not much of a one. I worked for Jerry 
Harden; maybe you ’ve heard of — him.” Curly’s 
face grew serious. “I might just as well get it 
out of my system first as last,” he went on. 
“Jerry was pinched runnin’ steers off the F. M. 
ranch, and shot one of their hands. Then the 
bunch got busy and kinda made a human collander 
out of him; an’ as they was after me because I 
lived with him, I lit out. Of course, if you don’t 
want me just say so, an ’ I ’ll hit the trail. ’ ’ 

Despite his effort to appear nonchalant, the 
boy’s eyes were a little wistful. Hanson nodded. 

“I heard somethin’ about the rumpus,” he said 
briefly. “I met up with a man from down that 


AN OLD FRIEND 27 

way in town yesterday. How ’d yon come to be 
workin’ for a cuss like that?” 

A flush crept up into Curly ’s face. “I — I ’ve 
always lived with him ever since I was a shaver,” 
he said in a low voice. “I don’t know any more 
than that ; he ’d never tell me. He — he said he was 
my uncle, but I did n ’t believe him much. He 
never acted a whole lot like it.” 

“Huh!” grunted Bert, his eyes still fixed in- 
tently on the boy’s face. “I don’t know as it 
makes a whole lot of matter so long as you can 
punch cows. What name do you answer to?” 

A look of relief flashed into the other’s face. 
‘ 1 Jim, ’ ’ he answered quickly. ‘ 4 Likewise Curly. ’ ’ 

“Curly ’ll do. We got two Jims already, and 
that ’s aplenty. I pay twenty-five a month. Bet- 
ter skip over to the housp an’ get some grub. We 
start for the wagon in ten minutes.” He opened 
the bunk-house door and thrust his head in. 4 ‘ Say, 
you young loafer,” he remarked briefly, “you ’d 
better get some speed on, or you ’ll go out to the 
wagon empty.” 

Homer appeared, wearing a look of injured in- 
nocence. “How ’d I know it was late?” he com- 
plained. “Nobody waked me up.” 

“It takes a charge of dynamite to do that,” Bert 
flung back over his shoulder. “Better not waste 
time arguing; we start in ten minutes.” 


28 


CUELY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


Homer ’s only reply was a wink at Curly as they 
hurried into the kitchen. 6 ‘ Everything all right ? ’ ’ 
he whispered. 

Curly nodded. ‘ 6 Sure thing. I ’m going out to 
the wagon with you.” 

“Fine and dandy! We ’ll make ’em sit up, all 
right . 9 9 

There was no time just then for further conver- 
sation. Hanson and the others had already fin- 
ished breakfast, and the two boys bolted their ’s in 
a hurry, knowing that he was not a person to be 
kept waiting. In little more than ten minutes 
they were in the saddle, heading in the direction 
of Cottonwood Camp, near which the wagon was 
located, and where a round-up was to be held that 
morning. 

Curly had left Red Bird in the corral and was 
riding a sorrel which had been in the string of 
Sourface, lately departed from the outfit. As he 
loped along beside Homer, the fresh morning air 
brushing his face and the rythmical beat of the 
horses’ hoofs sounding in his ears, he could have 
shouted aloud from sheer joy of living. The care 
and worry and uncertainty which had weighed 
upon him were gone. He had found his chum and 
a job, and for the first time in his life he stood on 
his own feet without the dragging handicap of 
another’s reputation. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE CIRCLE BAR 

“T S’POSE yon ’ll have old Sourf ace’s string,” 
JL remarked Homer presently, tilting his hat a 
little more over his eyes. “They ain’t such a bad 
lot, either, except Nubbins and Crazy Jane. Sour- 
face was scart to ride them.” 

“Broncs?” queried Curly. 

“Nope; both of ’em broke last year, but they ’re 
just plumb batty. You know the kind; as soon 
fall down an’ roll over you as not, or any other 
darn fool trick you don’t expect. Say, Baldy, my 
son; don’t you know better ’n to ride with your 
hat off? The sun ’ll frazzle your brains pretty 
quick. ’ ’ 

Baldy looked around with a grin. “Don’t get 
envious, little one,” he observed patronizingly. 
“Maybe some day you ’ll have brains enough to 
frazzle.” 

“Huh!” snorted Homer. “I got enough to get 
along with now — an’ something to cover ’em, too. 
I ain’t a human billiard ball like some folks.” 

“I expect you ’d better drop off here, Kawikee,” 

29 


30 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


broke in Bert abruptly. “ Drive in to Cotton- 
wood, and don ’t be all day about it. ’ ’ 

Kawikee made no remark, but, heaving a little 
sigh, he pulled off to the right. About a mile 
further on Baldy left them with similar instruc- 
tions and the other three rode on alone. Presently 
Bert pulled up and addressed Homer. 

“Better take Curly along with you ’cause he 
don ’t know the land yet. Make a clean drive now, 
and none of your tricks.” 

“Tricks?” repeated Curly innocently, when 
they were out of earshot. “Have you got tricks, 
kid?” 

“Of course not,” replied Homer virtuously. 
“I ’m surprised you should ask such a question. 
Of course, if some of my cattle get mixed up with 
Bert’s or Baldy ’s, I can’t help it, can I?” 

“Not without wasting a whole lot of time sepa- 
rating ’em, ’ ’ Curly replied. 4 ‘ And seeing they ’re 
all going to the same place, I don’t know that it 
makes a lot of difference who drives ’em in.” 

They presently came upon a bunch of about 
thirty two-year-olds with a few cows among them, 
and a skillful application of the rope started them 
running obliquely toward the right, a course which 
would soon bring them into the territory Baldy 
was covering. 

“There!” observed Homer with satisfaction, as 


THE CIRCLE BAR 


31 


ne put back his rope. ‘ 4 That ’ll give Baldy some- 
thing to exercise those brains of his on that he ’s 
blowing so much about.” 

Having satisfied this score, the two proceeded 
to make a clean drive and reached the round-up 
about ten o’clock behind some two hundred head 
of cattle. Several of the men were already in and 
were holding the herd on the edge of a steep draw 
north of the wagon. Homer and Curly threw their 
bunch with the rest and took their places on the 
outside of the circle. Within twenty minutes 
three more cow-punchers appeared, among them 
Kawikee, and Bert was not far behind. But it 
was a good hour before Baldy showed up, hot, tired 
and foaming with rage at the trouble he had had 
with some steers which, he declared, were pos- 
sessed with the devil. Bert’s sarcastic comments 
did not tend to add to his good humor. 

Being a new hand, Curly helped hold the cut 
and found that it w T as not too engrossing to pre- 
vent his seeing everything else which went on. 
Bert and Poley, his assistant — the “ straw boss,” 
he was called — did the cutting out. And as Curly 
watched them single out a steer and work him out 
of the herd with swift, unerring skill, he wished 
he might be doing the same thing. He knew he 
couldn’t have done it half so well, but it was far 
more interesting than his own job, which consisted 


32 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


merely in seeing that the steers which had been 
cut out did not run back to the main herd. 

It was almost three o’clock before the two-year- 
olds had all been cut out and the rest of the herd 
driven off. Two men remained on day-herd duty 
and the others made a dash for the wagon and 
their belated dinner. For a time strict attention 
was paid to the business of eating and there was 
little or no conversation. But when the meal was 
over Curly was made acquainted with the other 
members of the outfit. Chief among them he 
liked Poley, a tall, lithe, well-set-up young fellow 
of twenty-five, whose skill at cutting out he had 
been admiring all morning. He was good tem- 
pered and full of fun, but there was the faintest 
possible trace of reserve in his attitude toward 
all the other men save two. For Homer he seemed 
to have a great fondness, while Bert’s appearance 
was always a signal for the beginning of an argu- 
ment. The subject under discussion did not seem 
to matter in the least ; one was as good as another, 
and they took opposite sides with the matter-of- 
fact precision of old cavalry horses falling into 
line. 

Besides the men already mentioned, there was 
Red, a slim, active fellow of twenty-two, all muscle 
strung on steel wire, with a freckled face, snappy 
blue eyes and the reddest kind of red hair. Long 


THE CIRCLE BAR 


33 


Bill Timmons was lean and lank and taciturn, 
w T itk skin like leather and a face threaded with a 
net-work of tiny wrinkles. He was a genuine 
“old timer, ” who had passed through every phase 
of ranch life, from the faraway, easy-going days of 
the open range to the present systematic, totally 
changed conditions. His opposite was “Pink” 
Davis, who had been with the outfit but a month. 
He was young and green — very green. His chaps 
were very fringy and very clean and very yellow. 
His saddle, creaking with newness, had just a few 
more conchas and saddle strings and fixings than 
anyone else’s. But he was quick and smart and 
madly enthusiastic and did not seem doomed to 
remain for long in the tenderfoot class. 

Curly found that “Silent” Baynes quite lived 
up to his name ; a more utterly unsociable person 
the boy had never seen. He was a marked con- 
trast to Celso, the fat Mexican cook, whom every- 
body liked and whose bubbling, contagious laugh- 
ter sounded from the wagon at the most unex- 
pected moments. These constituted the outfit, ex- 
cept for half a dozen men in the line camps, and the 
two who were on day-herd, Sunny Jim and 
Broncho Tom, who seemed from a casual inspec- 
tion to be just plain cow-punchers without any- 
thing unusual or unexpected about them. Like 
many of the other men their last names were 


34 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


shrouded in the mists of oblivion, for on the range 
no one thinks of calling anyone by anything save 
a nick-name or an abbreviation. 

“Did you see those Lazy X strays, Poley?” in- 
quired Homer, after he had introduced Curly. 

Poley tightened the string on his tobacco sack 
with his teeth and tucked it into the pocket of his 
flannel shirt. “Sure!” he answered, deftly roll- 
ing a cigarette between his slim, brown fingers. 
“Want the job of taking them back?” 

“I certainly do,” returned Homer emphatically. 
“Only you know right well Bert won’t send me.” 

“Of course he won’t if he thinks you want to 
go. You ’re not very wise yet, kid.” 

“Humph!” snorted Homer. “Maybe you 
think you could work it better. ’ ’ 

Poley ’s face lighted briefly with a smile. “I 
might,” he said dryly. “I ’ve had considerable 
experience working him.” 

He said nothing more, but presently he strolled 
carelessly around the wagon to where Hanson was 
laying down the law to Celso. 

“Say, Bert,” he drawled, “you ’re not thinking 
of sending Homer back with those Lazy X steers, 
are you?” 

There was a pause, during which Bert stiffened 
visibly. “I did have some such thoughts,” he re- 
marked slowly. ‘ 1 Any ob j ections ? ’ ’ 


THE CIRCLE BAR 


35 


“Oh, no!” Poley ’s tone, elaborately detached, 
held a little undercurrent of disapproval. “Only 
I thought maybe you could spare somebody else 
better.” 

“I reckon not.” Bert’s jaw squared with the 
determined firmness of one quite able to manage 
his own affairs without suggestions. “I ’ll send 
him and Curly; they ought to be back to-night.” 

Though it required some effort, Poley discreetly 
refrained from speech and walked slowly away 
whistling. As he came around the wagon, Homer 
greeted him impatiently. 

“Well?” 

“Though I strongly advised him not to, he ’s 
going to send you an’ Curly.” There was a 
twinkle in Poley ’s eyes as he exhaled a cloud of 
smoke. “He don’t set much value on my advice, 
does he, kid?” 

“You ’re a wonder, all right,” Homer exclaimed 
admiringly. ‘ ‘ Any idea when we start ? ’ ’ 

‘ 4 Could n ’t say. Not approving of the business, 
I didn’t ask questions. Pretty quick, though, if 
you ’re going to get back to-night. ’ ’ 

Homer lowered one eyelid. “To-night?” he 
murmured. “Yes, we will!” 

There was no time for further words, however, 
for at that moment Bert appeared and curtly in- 
structed Homer to saddle up at once and drive the 


36 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

strays over to the Lazy X bull pasture. “It ain’t 
necessary for you to go to Rita Blanca, either,” 
he added significantly. “I ’ll tell Bob about it 
when I see him. And be sure you ’re back to-night, 
’cause I want to start for Charvis first thing in 
the morning. ’ ’ 

“Sure thing! If I don’t have any trouble I 
ought to be back by nine o’clock.” Homer’s ex- 
pression was perfect, though his eagerness to re- 
turn to duty was a trifle overdone. 

Bert grunted unintelligibly, but with a touch of 
doubt, and walked away. 4 4 Take Curly with you, ’ ’ 
he called back a moment later , 4 4 then you ’ll be sure 
of nothing happening. ’ ’ 

Homer bestowed a complaisant look on his 
friend, and without further words they hastened 
to saddle up and leave camp. It was not difficult 
to cut out of the herd the five steers which had 
stayed over from the neighboring outfit, and 
within half an hour they were on their way. 
While in sight of camp ti^ey proceeded discreetly, 
but as soon as an intervening knoll hid them from 
observation their speed increased, and presently 
the reluctant steers were being rushed past succu- 
lent clumps of buffalo grass in a way that was 
distinctly harassing. 

Nothing occurring to detain them, they made 
the twenty odd miles in little less than three hours 


THE CIRCLE BAR 


37 


and promptly at seven o’clock reached the south- 
ern side of the Lazy X bull pasture. Homer dis- 
mounted and defty pulling the staples with a pair 
of pliers, made a passage in the fence through 
which their exhausted charges staggered. Once 
on the other side three of them promptly lay down, 
while the other two stood, swaying slightly, a wild 
expression in their eyes, as if they were unable 
to understand what had happened to them. 


CHAPTER V 


THE DANCE THAT NEVER WAS 

H AVING accomplished their task, Homer 
straightened np and stared meditatively 
across the rolling country. 4 ‘Wish I knew 
whether the boys were at Rita Blanca or not, ’ ’ he 
remarked. 

“Some of ’em will be there, won’t they?” sug- 
gested Curly. 

“Sure; but they ’ll probably be the ones we 
don’t give a hang about seeing. Might as well 
chance it, though. We certainly deserve some di- 
version after hustling that beef along at a two- 
forty clip.” 

He led his horse through the gap in the fence 
and Curly followed. When the wire had been 
fastened up, Homer mounted and the two headed 
eastward, riding at a good speed. They had not 
gone three miles when a single horseman came in 
sight off to the left, riding obliquely to meet them. 

“Wonder who that is?” pondered Homer as 
they pulled in and waited. “Looks a bit like Jack 
Clifton.” ’ ^ 

A minute or two later his guess was confirmed. 

38 


4 


THE DANCE THAT NEVER WAS 39 


With a wave of his hand the horseman slightly 
changed his course and presently drew rein beside 
them. 

‘ ‘ Hello, J ack, ’ ’ Homer greeted him. ‘ * Where ’d 
you fall from?” 

“Just ridin’ in from camp,” returned the other, 
pulling off his hat and running his fingers through 
his thick, brown hair. He was a slim, sun-browned 
fellow with clean-cut features and a pair of wide, 
candid, blue eyes. 

“Why, you ’re all togged out,” Homer con- 
tinued, making the discovery. “Looks like you 
were going to see your best girl.” 

Clifton laughed easily. “Lord, no! I wish I 
had one to see. I ’m goin’ to the dance. Ain’t 
you fellows cornin’?” 

“Dance! What dance?” Homer was all inter- 
est. “I did n’t hear about any dance.” 

< < Why, at the ranch — Rita Blanca. Did n ’t they 
send you word? Ain’t any of you fellows 
comin ’ ? ” 

‘ ‘ First I heard of it, ’ ’ said Homer shortly. 

“That ’s funny. Bob said he was going to send 
over. I reckon maybe he couldn’t spare a man. 
It ain’t too late, anyway.” 

“Gee! I can’t go this way.” Homer looked 
ruefully down at his greasy chaps and torn neck 
handkerchief. “Who ’s going to be there?” 


40 


CUKLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


‘ ‘Quite a bunch from Chamiing,” returned 
Jack, ‘‘Say; why don’t you take a run back an’ 
change your clothes f Then you can bring some of 
the other boys along. 

‘ ‘ Good idea. About ten o ’clock ? ’ 7 
“Around that, I reckon. Get back as soon as 
you can. S’long. See you later. ’ ’ 

He tightened rein and rode off, while the two 
friends, wheeling sharply, started south again. 
As they flew along they discussed the pleasing 
news with interest. There had been no dance in 
the neighborhood for weeks, and Homer was en- 
thusiastic at the prospect of indulging in one of 
his favorite pastimes. Besides, he had to answer 
all sorts of questions from Curly and describe for 
his benefit the good and bad qualities of the vari- 
ous Channing girls who were likely to be there. 
Consequently, almost before they knew it, they 
had reached the neighborhood of the Circle Bar 
wagon. 

At once slowing down, they proceeded through 
the darkness with caution and in silence. Bert 
had a babit of retiring early, and, as Homer re- 
marked in a whisper, it would be a pity to disturb 
his rest. This thoughtfulness, however, was 
wasted. For after tying their horses to a cotton- 
wood three hundred yards from camp and pro- 
ceeding hither on hands and knees with much dis- 


THE DANCE THAT NEVER WAS 41 

comfort, they found that he had gone back to the 
ranch house late that afternoon. This informa- 
tion was gleaned from Celso, who sat with his 
hack against one of the wagon wheels playing soli- 
taire by the light of a single lantern. The others 
had turned in for lack of something better to do. 
Awakened suddenly, they received the news coldly. 

“Who told you?” asked Poley, sitting up 
sleepily. 

“Jack Clifton,” responded Homer, pulling off 
his chaps. “Met him coming in from camp all 
togged out.” 

“Hm.” Poley looked dubious. “Wonder if he 
was lying? He most generally is.” 

“What would he make up a story like that for?” 
asked Curly. 

Poley eyed him quizzically. “You don’t know 
Jack, I reckon. He ’d rather lie than eat. Well, 
I guess I ’ll risk it. Anything for a little excite- 
ment. ’ ’ 

He got up stretching and began to pull on his 
clothes. Three others, Baldy, Red and Arkansas, 
followed his example. 

“Ain’t you coming, Kawikee?” Homer inquired, 
as he tied a green silk handkerchief in a fetching 
knot. 

« 

“Not me,” yawned the latter. “I ’m too com- 
fortable.” 


42 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


“ Quitter !” 

‘‘You can’t work me up that way,” declared 
Kawikee calmly. “I ’ll bet there ain’t going to 
be no dance, anyway. I ’ll bet it ’s just one of Jack 
Clifton’s fairy tales.” 

“Oh, rats!” snapped Homer. “For five cents, 
I ’d— ” 

* ‘ Come on, kid, ’ ’ broke in Poley. “We have n ’t 
got any time to waste if we ’re going to get there 
to-night.” 

Flinging back a last word at Kawikee, Homer 
followed the others outside. Horses were roped, 
saddles thrown on in a hurry, and the six men 
started at a gallop for Rita Blanca. The great 
harvest moon had just risen, a flaming, crimson 
ball in the east. The air was balmy yet not too 
warm. An ideal night for a dance, they decided, 
as they loped along, laughing, chatting, chaffing 
each other and occasionally breaking into a chorus 
of song. Thus the time passed quickly and about 
half past ten they came within sight of the ranch 
house standing on a low plateau around the base 
of which flowed the Rita Blanca creek. 

“Don’t see any illuminations,” remarked Red 
as they rode into the water. 

“Maybe they ’re dancing in the moonlight,” 
suggested Homer hopefully. “It ’s sure bright 
enough. ’ ’ 


THE DANCE THAT NEVER WAS 43 


“They ’re terrible still about it, then,” was 
Poley’s dubious comment. 

No one spoke as they rode up the curving trail 
and reached the level of the plateau. But when 
they halted at the top the horrid truth was plain 
to all. The long, low, ’dobe ranch house was 
lighted only by the moon. The doors were closed, 
the windows dark; the whole place fairly reeked 
with silence. 

“No joyous revelry to-night,” murmured Baldy, 
reining in his horse. 

“Dished, by thunder ! ” Poley exclaimed. 

Homer let out an explosive. “Just wait till I 
see that son-of-a-gun again,” he declared viciously. 
“I ’ll show him — ” 

“Come away, child,” interrupted Baldy softly. 
“Pretty quick you ’ll have our amiable Lazy X 
friends awake, and then we ’ll never hear the last 
of this. Let ’s hike. ’ ’ 

They went, quietly, hurriedly, without a back- 
ward glance. But once out of hearing they re- 
sumed the subject of Jack Clifton and in a short 
space his personal appearance, his character and 
ancestry had been discussed and dissected with 
a warmth and simple directness which left little 
to be desired. They reached the wagon shortly 
after midnight, and having turned the horses into 
the remuda, they hastily sought the tent. As the 


44: CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

first one entered a voice greeted him ironically. 

“Didn’t stay long, did you! I thought there 
was a nigger in that woodpile. Now, if you ’d 
taken my advice — ” 

Six minds were seized with but a single thought. 
Six stalwart forms fell upon the offending Kavvi- 
kee as one. And when quiet was at length re- 
stored a considerable portion of their wrath had 
been satisfactorily worked off. 


CHAPTER VI 


PEDRO 

W HAT little remained of annoyance and 
chagrin was not long enduring. Within 
a day or so ^he incident had been forgotten, and it 
was not until some two weeks later that it cropped 
up again, quite unexpectedly. 

Curly and Homer had been sent to town on some 
errands for the ranch. Having carried these out 
with speed they lingered for an hour or more 
along Romero’s main — and only — thoroughfare, 
exchanging items of news with various acquaint- 
ances, and enjoying the mild excitements of the 
village until finally obliged to tear themselves 
away. Less than a mile from town along the trail, 
they met three Lazy X men coming from the op- 
posite direction. 

‘ 4 Ain’t you boys headin’ the wrong way?” in- 
quired one of them called Alkali, a loose-limbed 
tawny-haired giant. 

“I reckon not,” returned Homer. 4 ‘We ’ve 
about exhausted the pleasures of the metropolis.” 

45 


46 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


‘ 4 Better come back with us and do it over 
again/ ’ urged Alkali. 

Homer shook his head. 4 4 Can’t to-day. Got 
to get back to the ranch and see that Bert don’t 
do anything foolish.” 

4 4 All right; suit yourself.” Alkali shrugged 
his shoulders; then a sudden thought seemed to 
strike him. 4 4 Say, ’ ’ he grinned, 4 4 1 did n ’t see any 
of you boys at the dance the other night.” 

Homer’s brown eyes opened wide. 4 4 Dance!” 
he repeated blankly. 4 4 Where at ? ” 

4 4 Why, at Rita Blanca. Didn’t Jack tell you 
about it?” 

4 4 Oh, that! Why, I thought he was joshing. I 
would n’t have missed it for anything if 1 ’d known 
you were really having a dance.” Homer’s voice 
took on an accent of profound regret. 4 4 Next time 
you fellows want to send word by somebody else, ’ ’ 
he went on. 4 4 Jack Clifton ’s such a thundering 
liar you can’t ever believe a thing he says.” 

A look of disappointment flashed across Alkali’s 
face and was gone. 4 4 We would have,” he ex- 
plained, 4 4 only it was so sudden we didn’t have 
time. Well, so long.” 

When they had ridden on along the trail, both 
boys breathed sighs of relief. 4 4 That was pretty 
good stuff, kid,” Curly remarked. 44 You got ’em 
barking up the wrong tree, all right. ’ ’ 



With a scream of rage, the horse dropped his head 

and began to pitch 









































* 
























PEDRO 


47 


‘ ‘ Uh-huh. I don ’t guess they suspect anything. 
It would certainly be nuts to them if they knew we 
went. I wish we could get even with Clifton, 
though. ’ 9 

As they rode along through the crisp, October 
air they discussed various ways of accomplishing 
this end, but reached the ranch without coming 
to any definite decision. Dismounting at the cor- 
ral, they pulled their saddles off and turned the 
horses loose. Then Homer went into the bunk- 
house, while Curly started over to the ranch house 
with some letters for Bert. As he approached 
the door, it was opened suddenly and a stranger 
stepped out. 

He was a heavily built, spruce-looking man of 
about fifty, with dark hair sprinkled with gray 
and a square, florid, clean-shaven face. He wore 
riding-breeches and puttees, both of which were 
gray with dust, and in one hand he carried a rid- 
ing switch with a silver top. 

As their glances met, the stranger stopped sud- 
denly, it seemed almost with a start. For a mo- 
ment he did not speak, but stared at Curly with 
a curious, frowning intentness which held a 
mingled speculation and incredulity in its depth. 
Then he cleared his throat. 

“Who are you?” he inquired abruptly. 

‘ 4 One of the hands, ’ ’ returned Curly briefly. 


48 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


“I guessed that much,” snapped the other sar- 
castically. “What ’s your name!” 

The boy shrugged his shoulders. “Harden is 
my name,” he answered. “Jim Harden.’ ’ 

“Ah — Harden,” the other murmured. For an 
instant it seemed to Curly as if his face were a 
shade less florid ; certainly his grip had tightened 
spasmodically on the riding switch. Then, with- 
out further comment he turned abruptly and dis- 
appeared into the ranch house. 

Curly stared blankly at the door for a moment 
before he moved on to the kitchen, a puzzled 
wrinkle in his forehead. 

“Say, Celso,” he inquired from the doorway, 
“who ’s the guy with the red face and floppy 
pants?” 

The Mexican wheeled swiftly. “Sh!” he cau- 
tioned, a fat finger to his lips. “That ’s the big 
boss — Graham. He owns the ranch.” 

Curly’s eyes widened. “Whew!” he whistled 
softly, thinking of his curtness with a man of such 
importance. He hesitated an instant and then laid 
the letters on the table. “Give ’em to Bert, will 
you?” he said. “When ’s supper ready?” 

‘ ‘ Six o ’clock ; no sooner. ’ ’ 

Curly sighed and departed for the bunk-house. 
While he was washing up he pondered a little on 


PEDRO 


49 


Mr. Graham’s odd behavior, but could come to no 
satisfactory conclusion about it. He finally de- 
cided that the man must be a little eccentric, and 
let it go at that. 

Owing to the unexpected presence of the ranch 
owner, supper was delayed to-night. The fur- 
nishing of the table during these infrequent visits 
of the Chicago man was, in fact, a source of worry 
to Hanson. If only the ordinary fare was pro- 
vided Mr. Graham was apt to be put out and de- 
clare that there was nothing fit to eat. But if some 
delicacy were added his remarks on the evils of 
rich living were equally forceful. Bert had finally 
solved the problem by having a special dish or two 
in which the men did not share. To-night, how- 
ever, he had been obliged to hastily slaughter a 
calf and its preparation had delayed the meal. 

Strange to say, Mr. Graham made no comment 
at the sight of such lavishness. He seemed, in 
fact, to have very little appetite, and to be notice- 
ably self-absorbed. Once or twice Curly en- 
countered a rather furtive glance from under the 
bushy eyebrows, and was merely confirmed in his 
belief that the man was a ‘ 4 queer duck.” Every- 
one was relieved when he and Bert presently left 
the table and retired to the office. 

“He ’s a sociable old geezer, all right,” com- 


50 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


merited Homer, masticating with difficulty the ex- 
tremely tough veal. “Pedro with a grouch on is 
about as entertaining. ’ ’ 

“You ’ve said a mouthful/ ’ agreed Kawikee. 
“I wonder if he ’s going to stay long?” 

“He leave to-morrow,” remarked Celso, from 
over by the stove. ‘ ‘ 1 hear heem say so. ’ ’ 

“Well, that ’s something to be thankful for,” 
drawled Homer. He put down his empty coffee 
cup and stretched out his legs. “Anybody heard 
what ’s doing now that the round-ups are over?” 
he inquired. 

He glanced at Poley, but that individual 
shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t ask me, son,” he 
smiled. “You know how I stand with Bert. He 
don’t ask my advice about things; he just tells me 
what ’s wanted when he ’s ready. I reckon, 
though, it ’ll be riding fence for a bit and fixing 
things up generally for winter. ’ ’ 

His supposition proved more or less correct. 
All next day and the following one the punchers 
spent repairing fences in the neighborhood of the 
ranch house. During the spring and summer 
there had been no time to put on them, and many 
were in pretty bad repair. In some places the wire 
was down and had to be restrung, while here and 
there a rotting post made a new one necessary. 
It was hard work, but not unpleasant, for the 


PEDRO 


51 


weather was fine, and like the average cow- 
puncher they accomplished their tasks to the ac- 
companiment of considerable innocent skylarking. 
Returning at dusk on the second day, they were 
surprised to find the bunk-house occupied by 
Pedro, a rather surly Mexican, who for most of 
the summer had been the sole occupant of one of 
the line camps located at the extreme end of the 
ranch, but only a few miles off the trail leading 
to Channing, the nearest railroad town. 

There was some idle speculation as to the rea- 
son for his presence here, but Pedro was not one 
to gratify curiosity, idle or otherwise, and it was 
not until later that this was relieved. During sup- 
per Bert was more than usually taciturn. He 
hurried through the meal with scarcely a word 
and then, pushing back his chair, he arose and 
started for the office. Half way across the room 
he stopped as though he had suddenly remem- 
bered something, and turned slowly around. 

“I expect you and Pedro had better go down to 
Jones’ camp to-morrow and stay there awhile,” he 
said, addressing Curly. “The fence is in pretty 
bad shape and I want it fixed up. You can tote 
some grub down and do it all in one spell. ’ ’ And 
without waiting for Curly’s assent, which came 
grudgingly enough, he disappeared. 

“Well, what do you think of that!” exclaimed 


52 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


Homer on the way back to the bunk-house. “It ’s 
the limit ! ’ ’ 

“It sure is!” agreed Curly crossly. “I ’ll have 
a nice time all alone with that Greaser. He ’s 
about as sociable as a porcupine.” 

“Why the dickens could n’t he have sent me in- 
stead?” mused Homer. 

“That ’s easy. He ’s afraid we ’d loaf too 
much. Bert ’s no fool.” 

“Well, it ’s a darn shame, anyhow,” sputtered 
Homer. “I was going to see if Poloy couldn’t 
work him to put us together, but this came so quick 
there was n’ta chance.” 

Curly stretched himself lazily on his bed. 
“Maybe he can later on,” he said hopefully. “I 
sure don’t want to stay in that forsaken hole for 
months with a duck like Pedro. I ’d go off my 
head. ’ ’ 

Since it had to be done he was resolved to make 
the best of it and utter no complaint. But it was 
very hard to watch the rest of the boys ride off in 
a body next morning, laughing and chaffing one 
another, and then to start in the opposite direction, 
dragging a pack horse behind and accompanied by 
one of the most disagreeable men in the outfit. 

They had not ridden far, however, before it be- 
came evident that this was one of Pedro’s good 
days. He at once broke the silence by a commen- 


PEDRO 53 

dation of the weather and followed this up by won- 
dering how long it would take to reach camp. 

“You know better than I do,” answered Curly, 
as soon as he could catch his breath after this un- 
expected flow of words. “You ’ve been there often 
enough. Say,” he went on mischievously, 
“you Ye feeling pretty good to-day, are n’t you!” 

“Verra fine day,” explained Pedro, showing his 
teeth. “Can no help feel good.” 

“It sure is.” Curly sighed. “I wish — Oh, 
never mind what I wish. You ’re not such bad 
company, after all, Pedro. ’ ’ 

“Sure t’ing,” returned the Mexican, with 
another display of ivories. “Good comp’ny when 
feel good.” 

“Well, I hope you ’ll stay feeling good.” 

Curly decided that the Mexican must have been 
much maligned. He had never laid eyes on him 
before yesterday, but the description furnished 
by Homer and Poley did not at all agree with the 
cheerful, smiling reality before him. 

Making a short halt at midday, they reached 
the camp about five o’clock and found the shack 
in a miserable state of repair. It was built of 
’dobe with a sod roof which was so full of holes 
that it was surprising anything at all of it re- 
mained. The door was off the hinges and the win- 
dows empty and shutterless. Fortunately as it 


54 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


did not rain they passed a fairly comfortable night, 
but it took them all next day to patch things up 
enough to make the place livable. 

Pedro ’s good humor continued unimpaired, but 
Curly soon discovered that he had an extraordin- 
ary aversion to work and shirked it at every op- 
portunity. But this had rather been expected, 
and after the place was patched up, it made little 
difference to the boy whether Pedro rode his fence 
or loafed in the camp. They were each responsi- 
ble for certain sections, and Curly made a point of 
keeping careful record of his own work. 

It was a little irritating, though, to come in at 
the end of the day and find the Mexican asleep in 
one of the bunks or dawdling over a game of soli- 
taire, when it was his turn to cook supper. This 
happened several times before Curly took any 
active notice of it. But one afternoon, when he 
came in tired out from a hard day’s work nailing 
up wire and putting in fence posts, the sight of 
Pedro comfortably snoozing was too much for him 
and he decided that the thing had gone on long 
enough. 

Carefully closing the door so that the man would 
not be disturbed, Curly built a fire outside and 
put on just three potatoes. Then he made coffee 
and fried a steak, and when everything was done 
he sat down and ate it without delay. It was all 


PEDRO 


55 


accomplished with such silence and dispatch that 
Pedro never wakened, and not until the dishes 
were washed and put away did he appear in the 
doorway, yawning and stretching. Then his eye 
fell upon Curly. 

4 * You late ? ” he inquired in a surprised tone. 

‘ ‘ Late ? ’ ’ repeated Curly. ‘ ‘ What put that idea 
in your head?” 

The Mexican waved his hand. “I see no po- 
tatoes, no supper — noting.” 

Curly grinned. “Oh, is that what ’s troubling 
you,” he said airily. “You were sleeping so 
sound it seemed a pity to wake you, so I cooked 
supper myself. I ate it, too, ’ ’ he added with pro- 
voking calm. 4 ‘ Just finished now. ’ ’ 

Pedro’s brow darkened. “Where is mine? 
Did you not cook for me?” 

“Not on your life, I didn’t! I cooked yester- 
day and it was up to you to cook to-day. ’ ’ Curly ’s 
tone was emphatic. “If you ’re too darned lazy 
to do your share of the work, I ’m not going to do 
it for you.” 

The blood rushed into the other’s sallow face and 
for a moment he stood with clenched fists, glaring 
murderously at the boy. Then without a word he 
turned on his heel and went back into the house. 

Curly’s face fell. He had quite expected a fight 
and was rather disappointed when it failed to 


56 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


come. “I do hate n Greaser/ ’ he grumbled to 
himself. “They never scrap a thing out fair and 
square. Now, I suppose he ’ll be grouchy for a 
week. ’ ’ 

Oddly enough this did not prove to be the case. 
To be sure, when Pedro emerged from the shack a 
little later, he cooked and ate his supper in sullen 
silence. But next morning he was all smiles and 
had apparently quite forgotten their disagreement 
of the night before. The two left camp together, 
and when Curly rode in about dusk he found the 
fire burning brightly and an appetizing supper 
well started. Evidently Pedro was one of that 
rare type of Greaser who could take a hint, he 
decided, as he sprawled comfortably before the 
fire afterward listening to the soft tinkle of the 
guitar; he wasn’t half bad company after all. 
Curly was very sleepy and dozed off several times. 
He had a faint recollection of finally pulling off 
his boots and some of his clothes, and tumbling 
into bed. 

That was the last thing he remembered until he 
suddenly awoke to find himself sitting bolt up- 
right with every nerve tingling and every sense 
alert. What had aroused him he did not know; 
nor had he the least idea how long he had slept. 
It must have been several hours, for the fire had 


PEDRO 57 

gone out and not even the glimmer of live coals 
relieved the inky blackness. 

Somehow, as he crouched listening, there seemed 
something unnatural in the utter stillness of the 
room, and for a moment he could not make up his 
mind just what was lacking. Then all at once it 
came to him. While Pedro did not actually snore, 
his heavy, irregular breathing was almost as 
noisy; just now not a sound came from his bed. 
He must have left the shack, and Curly decided to 
investigate. 

He stretched out one hand to feel for matches 
in his trousers’ pocket, when a faint rustling came 
from across the room. It was very slight, and 
ceased almost instantly; but the boy’s arm re- 
mained suspended in midair and he held his breath, 
waiting for a repetition. 

It seemed hours before it came again, this time 
a little nearer — a slow, dragging sound that ceased 
almost as soon as it began. Curly’s heart gave 
a sudden leap, sending the blood racing through his 
veins, as he realized that someone was crawling 
stealthily toward him across the hard dirty floor. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE WAY OF A GREASER 

S OFTLY the boy’s hand stole under the 
rolled-up slicker and with a little sigh of re- 
lief his fingers closed around the butt of his gun. 
With infinite care he reached over to his trousers, 
and, fumbling for a second in the pocket, drew out 
some matches. Then he listened. The crawling 
noise had ceased and the overpowering darkness 
bore down upon him with an actual physical sense 
of suffocation. Suddenly, with a swift movement, 
he drew a match across the tarp and as it flared 
up, he found himself gazing straight into the evil 
face of Pedro, who was stretched out on the floor 
not six feet away. 

‘ ‘ Drop it, you skunk ! ’ ’ ripped out Curly, level- 
ling his gun. ‘ ‘ Drop it ! ” 

His voice was hard and grating, but there was 
no hint in it of the tremor which went through him 
as the ugly-looking knife thudded from the Mexi- 
can ’s hand to the floor. 

‘ 4 Keep still!” he commanded, as the other made 
a movement to rise. 


53 


THE WAY OF A GREASER 


59 


For a moment he did not know what to do. The 
match was burning out and he dared not lower his 
Colt to scratch another. Then he remembered the 
stub of a candle set in an empty bottle which had 
lighted their evening meal, and with a swift wrig- 
gle he slipped away from the clinging blankets, 
leaped to his feet and backed toward the table. 
He dared not take his eyes off the Mexican, whom 
he had well covered. The result was that, a mo- 
ment later he stumbled over a box with a crash 
which almost upset him, and the match went out. 

Instantly there was a scrambling sound followed 
by the rush of feet. Curly ’s finger pressed the 
trigger instinctively, and the succeeding roar al- 
most drowned the slamming of the door. When 
he struck another match and lit the candle, Pedro 
had vanished. 

This in itself did not worry Curly much. It 
was, in fact, the best way out of the difficulty, for 
it saved him the trouble of holding the Mexican 
till morning and then taking him back to the ranch. 
But when he discovered that the other’s gun was 
also missing, his face grew serious, and without 
delay he blew out the candle and took up his sta- 
tion beside the door to wait for daylight. 

It seemed an interminable time before the first 
faint streaks of light made it possible to gather 
a few small things into a bundle. Then he opened 


60 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


the door cautiously and looked out. There was no 
one in sight, and a swift skirting of the cabin failed 
to reveal any sign of the Mexican, whose horse 
still grazed in the small corral with Curly’s. Evi- 
dently he had been badly frightened, and the boy 
smiled a little as he pictured the unreasoning panic 
which had made him abandon both horse and sad- 
dle. 

After breakfast Curly saddled up and, turning 
the other horses loose, started back for the ranch 
house. He knew Bert was not going to be at all 
pleased at his unexpected return, but that could n’t 
be helped. To stay alone in camp was simply to 
invite a shot in the back the first time he was off 
his guard, and that did not appeal to him in the 
least. It did not occur to him to speculate on the 
reason for Pedro’s murderous attack; he had been 
too much with Mexicans not to know their capabili- 
ties. Instead, as he rode, he spent most of his 
time wondering whether he would be sent back to 
Jones camp, and, if so, who would go with him. 

Toward nine he reached the ranch, left his horse 
in the corral and strolled over to the house. As 
he expected, he found Bert’s office deserted so he 
went on to the kitchen to have a talk with Celso 
and hear the news. On opening the door he was 
much surprised to find the sole occupant, a large, 


THE WAY OF A GREASER 


61 


square, totally strange woman of middle age and 
Celtic features, who was scrubbing the floor with 
an air of being very much at home indeed As 
he hesitated on the threshold, she glanced up and 
surveyed him with marked disapproval. 

“Lord love us — another wan!” she exclaimed, 
wringing out the cloth. “ An ’ what do yez be af- 
ter loafing around at this time of day for, when 
yez should be working like an honest man ? ’ ’ 

Curly was momentarily taken back at this on- 
slaught. “I just came in from camp to see Bert,” 
he explained hesitatingly. 

“Well, ye don’t see him, do yez?” she inquired 
sharply. “I ain’t got him hid, neither. Times 
is changed, young man,” she went on with em- 
phasis. “There ain’t no Berts, nor no one else 
hanging around this kitchen while I ’m cook, ex- 
ceptin ’ at meals. ’ ’ With much energy she slopped 
half a pail of water on the floor and scrubbed vig- 
orously with her brush. 

Curly’s lips twitched. “Has Celso gone with 
the wagon?” he asked innocently. 

The lady fixed him with a pair of snappy, blue 
eyes. “Don’t spake his name, the spalpeen !” she 
cried. “The dirt I ’m after cleanin’ up is a sin 
an’ a shame. If I had the namin’ of it, I know 
where he ’d go. An ’ the pans a sight, an ’ roaches 


62 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


so thick a body can’t step without crunching of 
’em. Don’t ask me where he is. He ain’t here, 
that ’s certain.” 

“I suppose — ’’began Curly. 
i ‘Now, don’t you begin supposin’ at this hour 
o’ the mornin’. Just you run over where you be- 
long and that black-eyed mess of imperance will 
tell you all you want to know. I ’m too busy. ’ ’ 
With a surprised exclamation Curly shut the 
door and raced over to the bunk-house, where he 
found Homer balanced on a box before the fire 
busily consuming a large slab of bread thickly 
spread with butter and sugar. A companion piece 
lay on the table at his elbow, and Curly pounced on 
it before the other could collect his wits. 

“Here! Come back with that!” exclaimed 
Homer indignantly. “This ain’t no free lunch.” 

Curly merely grinned at him from behind the 
table as his teeth made a large semi-curcle in the 
slice. ‘ 4 Pretty good stuff, ’ ’ he mumbled. 
“How ’d you get it out of the old lady?” 

“Asked her, you thieving little son-of-a-gun ! 
Say, what are you doing up here, anyhow?” 

“I had a little run-in with Pedro and he lit out, 
so I came in to see what Bert wants done.” 

Homer immediately demanded details, and his 
grievance was forgotten in the interest of hearing 
all about the difficulty. When Curly finally fin- 


THE WAY OF A GREASER 


63 


ished he expressed the conviction that Pedro would 
give him trouble yet, and then fell to wondering 
who would be sent to take his place. 

4 ‘That ’s what I ’d like to know myself,’ ’ said 
Curly, stretching himself out on Homer’s bed. 
‘ ‘ Maybe it ’ll be you. ’ ’ 

“I don’t know about that. I ’m due to go down 
to Freezeout to-morrow with Red. Bert may 
change his plans, though. Say, how did you like 
the new cook?” 

“She ’s certainly a talky old dame. She about 
took my head off a while ago.” Curly smiled at 
the recollection. 

“Her bark ’s worse than her bite. All you want 
to do is to give her a good jolly.” 

“I thought you must have been applying some 
soft soap from what she said about you,” com- 
mented Curly. “When did she come? What ’s 
the idea, anyhow?” 

“Oh, it ’s old man Graham,” explained Homer. 
“He ’s coming down next week with his niece, and 
thinks there ought to be a female woman about 
the place. So Bert went down to Channing Tues- 
day and hired Mrs. Reilly. I ’ll give her about 
one week to run the outfit. She ’s got Bert scared 
of her now. ’ ’ 

Toward noon Homer beguiled Mrs. Reilly into 
giving them a very substantial dinner, and their 


64 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


diplomatic praise of her cooking still further in- 
creased the lady’s good humor. They had just re- 
turned to the bunk-house and settled down for a 
comfortable afternoon when Bert unexpectedly ap- 
peared. He heard Curly’s story through with 
wrinkled brow. 

“You ought to have known better than to rile 
him up that way,” he said severely. “Why 
didn’t you take it easy?” 

“ Easy ! ” Curly burst out hotly. 4 ‘ Holy smokes, 
Bert! Do you think I ’m going to lay down and 
be walked over? I did about three-quarters of 
the work as it was.” 

“Well, you might have told him what you were 
going to do instead of springing it on him. You 
know how touchy those fellows are.” 

4 ‘ Oh, shucks ! He would n ’t have paid any at- 
tention.” Curly’s dander was up and he didn’t 
mince words. “Besides, anybody who ’ll pull a 
knife for a little trick like that isn’t safe to have 
around.” 

Bert walked up and down the room several times 
and finally stopped in front of the fire. “Well, I 
s’pose it can’t be helped now,” he said. “I ex- 
pect you and Homer had better slip down there 
to-night, though. You can’t tell what that son-of- 
a-gun might do. How much longer will it take 
you to fix up the fence?” 


THE WAY OF A GREASER 


65 


“ About a week, I reckon.” 

“All right. I ’ll want you both back here as 
soon as it ’s done.” He put his hand on the door 
latch. i ‘ If you run across him don ’t start shootin ’ 
if it ain’t necessary. Just tell him I want to see 
him at the ranch.” 

“Where he ’ll get a mild little lecture and be 
put to work again,” remarked Homer sarcastically 
as the door closed. “Believe me, that cuss has 
some kind of a pull around these diggings. He ’s 
so thundering lazy he ’d sit an’ let grasshoppers 
eat holes in his pants. Why, if one of us tried 
to put across the stuff he gets away with we ’d 
be fired in a jiffy. Well, let ’s get busy. I ’m 
not ’specially keen about striking camp after dark 
and getting a shot from the bushes. Run over 
and get some chuck from Queenie while I pack 
my war bag. Maybe you can land some of old 
Graham’s canned fruit. She won’t know any bet- 
ter than to hand it out to you.” 

Mrs. Reilly being still in an amiable frame of 
mind, Curly was able to secure several cans of 
peaches besides a good supply of more substantial 
articles. A pack horse was roped and loaded 
up, and soon after three they departed. Reach- 
ing Jones’ camp shortly before dusk, they 
found plenty of evidence that Pedro had paid it 
a visit since morning. His saddle and bridle 


66 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

were gone, and so was everything edible in the 
place. 

“Gee!” remarked Curly, as they surveyed the 
interior of the shack. “It ’s a wonder he didn’t 
carry the house off with him. ’ ’ 

“He would have if he could,” returned Homer. 
“Lucky ’dobe won’t burn. If it had been wood 
he ’d have put a match to it sure. Say ! Is n ’t 
that your bed over there? That ’s funny.” 

“He ’s got a better tarp, and Navajo blankets; 
that ’s the only reason he didn’t swipe mine.” 
Curly pulled his bed out of a corner and spread- 
ing it on the floor found that nothing was missing. 
4 4 Let ’s get supper, ’ ’ he went on. 4 4 1 ’m so hungry 
I could pretty near eat my chaps.” 

That night they took turns watching, but morn- 
ing came without anything happening. Though 
they kept a sharp look-out during the day, they 
saw no signs of the Mexican, though this was not 
conclusive, since the rough, broken country of- 
fered plenty of chance for concealment. That 
night passed as uneventfully as the one before, 
and when they returned to camp late the second 
afternoon, they decided that Pedro must have left 
that part of the country. 

4 4 Though how he did it with his saddle and all, 
I can’t think,” Homer mused. 4 4 Wonder if he 
could have got hold of a horse.” 


THE WAY OF A GREASER 


67 


“There are plenty of ’em on the range, though 
it would be hard roping one on foot. Still, he 
might have managed it . ’ 1 

“Well, I don’t care how he got away so long as 
he ’s gone. I might have known we were wasting 
good time with all this watching. Pedro hasn’t 
any more nerve than a mouse, and it is n ’t likely 
he ’d stick around here taking chances against the 
two of us. ’ ’ Homer gave a yawn which threatened 
to dislocate his jaw. “I move we turn in; I ’m 
about petrified. We ’ll put a box against the door, 
so it can ’t open without waking us. ’ ’ 

He at once set about making his preparations, 
while Curly unrolled his bed and spread it out on 
the floor. It was their habit to air the blankets 
and quilts in the morning before starting off to 
work, adjusting the rather complicated arrange- 
ment of many folds so that no time would be lost 
at night. 

Curly had, therefore, merely to spread it out 
flat, peel off his clothes and slip between the 
blankets, which he did with a luxurious sigh of 
content. The next instant he gave a yell and 
sprang up with a convulsive movement which took 
him half way across the room. 

“Judas Priest!” he gasped. “There ’s a snake 
in the bed!” 


CHAPTER VIII 


THIRTEEN RATTLES AND A BUTTON 

F OR a moment Homer stared at him incredu- 
lously. But when Curly caught up a stick 
of fire-wood, his friend followed suit, and the two 
hurriedly approached the bed. 

4 ‘There it is,” Curly said quickly. 4 4 See that 
ridge there?” 

Gripping his stick, he raised it aloft and brought 
it down with force and precision across the slight 
elevation which looked more like a wrinkle in the 
tarp than anything else. Instantly there arose 
a commotion underneath the coverings. Writh- 
ing, twisting, thrashing about with extraordinary 
rapidity, the unseen creature seemed almost to 
move the entire bed, while the two boys, wild with 
excitement, rained blow after blow upon it. About 
two out of three went wild, and for a time those 
which struck home seemed to have no noticeable 
effect. But at length the wriggling movements 
grew slower and more labored, and finally ceased 
altogether, with only a convulsive squirm now 
and then to show that th,e reptile was still there. 
68 


THIRTEEN BATTLES 69 

Finally Homer straightened up and drew one 
sleeve across his forehead. 

4 'Whew! that 's hot work,” he gasped. 

“Do you think it 's dead yet?” asked Curly. 

"There can't be much left of it. Let ’s see 
what it is. ' 9 

Together they deftly jerked off the tarp, hold- 
ing themselves in readiness for any signs of life. 
One blanket was pulled away and then another, 
and the two boys gave a sudden exclamation of 
astonishment as the mangled, crushed remains of 
a huge rattler were revealed. 

‘ ' Holy smokes ! 9 ' cried Homer. ‘ ‘ Will you look 
at the size of it ! ” 

He poked gingerly with his stick, but only a 
slight muscular tremor passed through the body. 
"It sure is one whopper,” he went on. "Thir- 
teen rattles, hasn't it? How the dickens did it 
ever manage to crawl into your bed?” 

Curly gave him an odd look. "It didn't,” he 
said slowly. "It couldn't. I rolled that bed up 
before we went out this morning and haven't 
touched it since. Besides, the door 's been shut 
all day and there is n't a hole it could get through. 
I know, because I stopped them all up when I first 
came down.” 

The other's face grew serious. "But how — 
Do you mean it was put in?” 


70 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


“I don’t see how else it got there.” 

“Pedro?” 

“I suppose so.” 

For a moment there was silence as Homer gazed 
down at the rumpled blankets. 

‘ ‘ Gosh ! ” he burst out suddenly. 4 i A man is n ’t 
human who ’d do a thing like that. Suppose it 
had bit you?” 

Curly shrugged his shoulders: he was recover- 
ing from the shock of his very narrow escape. 
“You ’d likely have had to hunt up someone else 
to chum with,” he said lightly. “He ’s sure got 
it in for me, has n ’t he ? ” 

Homer picked up the snake on the end of his 
stick and threw it out of the door. “It doesn’t 
seem natural for him to be so devilish for such 
a little thing,” he commented in a perplexed tone. 
“I don’t understand it.” 

“You can never tell with a greaser,” Curly re- 
marked. ‘ 4 They ’ll nurse a grudge an awful long 
time. Well, there ’s one good thing about it; we 
know he ’s still around and we can look out for 
ourselves. Let ’s turn in.” 

He pulled the soiled and bloody blankets out 
of his bed and tossed them into a corner. Then, 
having fixed the table firmly against the door, he 
turned in with Homer. The latter was soon 
asleep, but it was some time before Curly fol- 


THIRTEEN RATTLES 


71 


lowed his example. Try as lie might he could 
think of no plausible reason for the malignant 
hatred shown him by a man with whom, up to the 
past few days, he had never exchanged a word. 
Though he had made light of it, the situation per- 
plexed him not a little, for at heart he agreed with 
Homer that the episode of the uncooked supper 
was almost too trivial to be the real foundation of 
the trouble. 

The remainder of their stay at Jones camp 
was not pleasant. While there were no more visits 
from Pedro, the constant atmosphere of suspense 
and the feeling that at almost any time a bullet 
might be fired at them from some hidden covert 
was all very wearing and tended to develop rasped 
nerves and uncertain tempers. But it was also a 
great stimulus to effort and they both worked to 
such purpose that when they reached the camp 
at the end of the fifth day the fence repairs had 
been completed, to their own satisfaction, at least. 

“Lord, I ’m glad that ’s done!” said Homer as 
he slid from his saddle. “Let ’s start back now. 
Seems like I could n’t put in another night in this 
lonesome hole.” 

“I ’m with you,” Curly agreed with fervor. 
“I reckon the cayuses will stand it.” 

‘ i Sure they will ! They Ve got to. I ’ll rope 
Skinny if you ’ll get the stuff out. ’ ’ 


72 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


Each performed his part with such expedition 
that within fifteen minutes they had packed up, 
loaded the pack horse and were out of sight of 
camp. With each succeeding mile their spirits 
rose, and by the time they reached the ranch house 
at nine o’clock, they were almost hilarious. As 
they rode up to the corral Bert came out of the 
house. 

“Well! You ’re back early,” he said as they 
dismounted and opened the gate. “Fence all 
right?” 

“Sure thing!” Homer answered. 

“Didn’t take you as long as you thought it 
would.” Bert’s tone was suspicious. 

“We hustled,” Curly explained frankly. 
“That darned greaser was laying for us, so we 
didn’t waste any time.” 

“Did you see him?” Bert demanded. 

“No, but he left his card.” Curly explained 
the incident of the snake while Bert listened in- 
tently. 

“Huh!” he commented when the boy had fin- 
ished. “He always was a worthless critter, but 
I did n ’t think he was that bad. He ’d better not 
show up around here or he ’ll get what ’s coming 
to him.” 

“He sure will,” affirmed Homer vigorously. 
“Say, Bert,” as the latter started to walk away, 


THIRTEEN BATTLES 


73 


“I s’pose we can get some grub over at the house. ” 

Hanson hesitated. “Why, I — don’t know,” he 
stammered. “Er — ask Mrs. Reilly. She runs 
the kitchen.” 

The darkness hid a delighted grin that over- 
spread the boy’s face as he bent down and hoisted 
his bed to one shoulder. 

“Will you listen to that!” he whispered. 
* ‘ She ’s got him well trained. ’ ’ 

“All in a week, too,” Curly snickered, as they 
turned toward the bunk-house. 

Entering, they dropped their bundles on the 
floor and were greeted by the assembled punchers. 

‘ ‘ Ha ! The prodigals ’ return, ’ ’ chuckled Baldy, 
from his place beside the fire. “Welcome to our 
city. ’ ’ 

“It sure is great to be here.” Curly dropped 
down beside Poley with a sigh of pleasure. “I 
don ’t want to see that blooming camp again as long 
as I live.” 

“Nothing the matter with Jones camp,” de- 
clared Kawikee. “Freezeout ’s a lot worse.” 

“You never camped there with Pedro, I 
reckon, ’ ’ Homer put in significantly. 

“Hence these lamentations,” murmured Poley. 
“What have you done with our amiable friend? 
I thought I missed his smiling countenance. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Huh ! ’ ’ snorted Homer. “You won ’t know his 


74 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


smiling countenance if he shows it around here. 
We 11 change that map of his so there won! be 
a ghost of a smile left.” 

‘ ‘ What the deuce is up, anyhow?” drawled 
Baldy. “What happened? It ’s like pulling 
teeth to get anything out of Bert.” 

“Didn’t he tell you anything about it?” sput- 
tered Homer. “Well, listen here.” 

He at once plunged into a graphic account of the 
events of the past week, which was listened to with 
the greatest interest. When he had finished Pe- 
dro’s chances for a speedy taking off, should he 
ever show his face on the range, were remarkably 
good. 

“What I want to know is where he went,” Kawi- 
kee spoke up. “There ain’t a — ” 

6 ‘ Holy smoke ! ’ ’ Homer broke in, springing up. 
“I plumb forgot grub. I was wondering why I 
felt so queer. Wait a minute. ’ ’ 

He dashed out of the bunk-house and over to the 
kitchen where, from the absence of light, he judged 
that Mrs. Reilly had retired. Stepping carefully 
so as not to awaken her, he made a rapid but thor- 
ough search and accumulated a goodly store of 
eatables which were quickly consumed by Curly 
and himself. Very soon afterwards everyone 
turned in. 

There was the usual rush for breakfast next 


THIRTEEN RATTLES 


75 


morning and as usual Homer was late. As he 
entered, Mrs. Reilly was in the midst of a vehement 
tirade against some person or persons — happily 
for them, unknown — who had raided her store- 
room. Homer at once plunged into the discussion, 
brazenly applauding her remarks, and bitterly 
condemning the thieves. The meal over, Poley 
left for one of the camps, while Kawikee and 
Baldy hitched up the mules and started for town to 
get supplies. Not having any particular instruc- 
tions from Bert, Curly and Homer were slipping 
quietly out of sight, when Hanson spied them. 

“Hold up there a minute,” he called. “I ex- 
pect you fellows had better get out some rope and 
make hackamores for a spell. I want you to start 
in on the broncs to-day, but I won’t have time to 
help you round ’em up ’till about eleven. ’ ’ 

Without comment, the two walked slowly over 
to the tool-house and leisurely dragged out a coil 
of rope which they carried around to a sheltered 
spot on the sunny side of the wagon shed. Set- 
tling down comfortably, they braided hackamores 
for an hour or more, enlivening the occupation with 
talk. Then Homer sought Bert for further in- 
structions, leaving Curly alone. 

For a time the latter braided industriously, his 
fingers doing the work mechanically with his mind 
busy on anything but the work at hand. His 


76 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


thoughts were miles away when all at once, quite 
close to him, a soft voice broke the stillness. 

“I beg your pardon, but would you mind sad- 
dling up a horse for me?” 


CHAPTER IX 


THE SHOT IN THE DUSK 

S he turned his head swiftly with a look of 



startled surprise, Curly’s eyes met those of 
a young girl who stood beside him. The sight 
was so unexpected, and she was so very pretty, 
that his presence of mind quite forsook him, and 
he sat gazing stupidly at her, a hot flush spreading 
slowly over his face. 

The girl bit her lips and gave a little exclama- 
tion. 4 4 Oh ! 9 9 she said. 4 4 1 thought — Why, I ? ve 
never seen you before.” 

Curly scrambled to his feet and pulled off his 
hat. “I just came in from camp last night,” he 
stammered, looking helplessly down at the liacka- 
more which dangled from his hand. 

4 4 Oh, that \s it.” Her eyes danced a little. 
4 4 How very bold you must have thought me 
when we ’ve never been introduced. My name is 
Dorothy Graham; sometimes the boys call me 
Jack.” 

4< I ’m Curly — that is, Jim Harden,” he said 
slowly. 44 I ’m sure glad to meet you.” Quite 


77 


78 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


suddenly the amusing side of it struck him; his 
eyes crinkled and his lips twitched. “You cer- 
tainly gave me a shock,” he confessed, tossing the 
haekamore to the ground. “I — I ’d heard you 
were coming, but nobody told us last night you 
were here. What horse do you want?” 

The girl laughed merrily. “You did look — sur- 
prised,” she said. “Oh, any one that doesn’t 
pitch.” 

“Don’t you care about any particular one?” 

She smiled at him in a friendly fashion which 
yet held no trace of forwardness in it. “Yes, of 
course I do. I ’m crazy about Topsy ; I rode him 
a lot last spring. Mogul ’s a nice beast, too, but 
I ’m used to never having the same one twice. 
They ’re always somewhere else.” 

Curly smiled a little. “You ’re sure in hard 
luck,” he said. “Topsy and Mogul are both out 
in the remuda, but I reckon I can find you a pretty 
good mount.” 

He took his rope and they walked over to the 
corral where, as he expected Kawikee and Baldy 
had left the horses after rustling the mules that 
morning. Looking them over, he decided on Rags, 
one of Bert’s string, and roping him he led him out 
of the corral and threw on the saddle. He was 
just putting the bridle on when Homer strolled 


THE SHOT IN THE DUSK 79 

around the corner whistling. Catching sight of 
Dorothy, he stopped abruptly, jaw dropping. 

“Why, Jack!” he burst out. “Excuse me — 
Miss Graham. I didn’t know you’d hit the 
ranch. ’ ’ 

The girl shook hands with evident pleasure. 
“Uncle and I came down day before yesterday,” 
she explained. “You ’ve been out at camp, 
have n’t you?” 

4 ‘ J ust came in last night. Are you going to stay 
a while?” 

“About a month, I think. Uncle has to go to 
Galveston, but he says I can stay till we go back 
home for good. All ready?” She turned 
briskly to Curly. 

“Y-es, I reckon so,” he replied hesitatingly. 

She seemed so slim and young and frail in her 
short divided skirts and tiny riding boots that he 
wondered if she could manage Rags who was n’t al- 
ways as quiet and well behaved as he looked. 

“Quite sure you can handle him?” he went on 
anxiously, shifting his hold on the bridle reins. 

Homer burst into a shout of laughter. “Don’t 
worry, kid,” he cried. “She can ride anything 
on the range.” 

The girl said nothing, but taking the reins out 
of his hand, she gave him a smile and a quick, 


80 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


reassuring nod. The next moment she was in the 
saddle handling the spirited animal with the ease 
and grace of a perfect rider. 

“Gee!” exclaimed Homer suddenly. “I clean 
forgot. Bert wants us to saddle up right away 
and round up some broncs to break. ’ ’ 

“Splendid!” the girl broke in. “And I ’ll go 
with you. I was just wondering what I should do ; 
it ’s so stupid riding alone.” 

A look of doubt appeared on Homer’s mobile 
face. ‘ ‘ That would be bully — er — Miss Graham, ’ ’ 
he began. ‘ ‘ But I don ’t know what Bert — ’ ’ 
“Bother Bert!” Dorothy exclaimed emphatic- 
ally. “ I ’m going. And look here, Homer Elkins ; 
what do you mean by calling me Miss Graham? I 
noticed it a minute ago, too. You never called me 
that before, and I don’t see why you should begin 
now. ’ ’ 

“Why — I don’t know,” Homer stammered. 
“You seem to have grown up all of a sudden. I 
thought maybe you might n’t like Jack. ’ ’ 

“You silly boy.” Her tone was almost ma- 
ternal. “Of course I like it; I don’t want you 
boys to call me anything else. It ’s my hair, you 
know, ’ ’ she explained, patting the knot at the back 
of her neck. “I ’ve put it up. Of course I ’ve 
grown some, but it ’s mostly the hair. Uncle said 
it did n’t make me look a bit different, but I know 


THE SHOT IN THE DUSK 81 

better . 9 9 There was a note of extreme satisfaction 
in her voice. 

Homer grinned. ‘ ‘ Right you are. I ’ll call you 
Jack ’till you ’re fifty, if you want me to. Well, 
s’pose we get busy and surprise Bert. He won’t 
be any better tempered if he ’s kept waiting.” 

The idea was good, but belated. As they started 
for the house they met Hanson coming to look for 
them. 

“ Wonder you wouldn’t take all day,” he 
grunted ; then he caught sight of the girl. “ Hello, 
Jack; going for a ride?” 

She smiled at him captivatingly. “Good morn- 
ing, Bert. I thought I ’d come along with you boy» 
if you don’t mind.” 

The Circle Bar boss evidently did mind, but 
seemed afraid to say so. He fidgeted with his 
reins, tested the stirrup leathers and finally fixed 
a scowling glance on Homer, who sat looking pa- 
tiently at nothing with a very detached expression. 

“Why — er — I don’t believe you ’d like it,” he 
stammered at length. “It ’s pretty rough work.” 

* ‘ Oh, I don ’t mind that. It will be lots more fun 
than riding off by myself somewhere.” 

“We ain’t likely to get back till late,” suggested 
the other, grasping at a straw. 

“That won’t matter; I ’ve only just finished 
breakfast.” 


82 


CUELY OF THE CIECLE BAE 


Suddenly her mouth drooped pathetically. 
“Of course if you don’t want me, Bert, just say 
so right out and I ’ll go away alone.” Two re- 
proachful gray eyes were raised to his, and Bert 
instantly capitulated. 

“I didn’t mean that, Jack,” he said hastily. 
i 1 Of course you can come if you want to. ’ ’ 

Having gained her point, Dorothy instantly be- 
came all smiles, and as they turned northward she 
was bubbling with good spirits. Tucked away in 
her mind, however, was a note of the effectiveness 
of pathos ; it might be useful in another emergency. 

They halted for a moment at the bronc pen while 
Curly and Homer tied back the gates. Then all 
four started at a lope for the west gate of Yega 
pasture, a section some eight miles square in which 
grazed the broncs and those horses which were 
unsuited for everyday use. This was much too 
large to permit the singling out of any particular 
animal, so that when broncs had to be broken the 
entire herd was driven back into the bronc pen and 
the selection made there. 

A short twenty minutes brought the party to the 
gate, and having passed through and fastened it 
again, they started across the field at a rapid 
canter. Scarcely half a mile from the east fence 
flowed Yega Creek, and along its banks where the 
grass was most plentiful, the majority of the 


83 


THE SHOT IN THE DUSK 

horses were gathered. As soon as they reached 
the head of the creek they split up. Curly crossed 
and rode down the east side some little distance 
from the bank. Homer did the same to the west, 
while Bert and Dorothy, keeping well to the rear, 
followed the stream closely. 

From this formation the horses naturally fled 
southward and presently encountering the fence, 
they followed it until they were all huddled to- 
gether in the south-easterly corner of the pasture, 
not far from the gate into the home pasture and 
the bronc pen. At this point Homer spurred for- 
ward, opened the gate and then retired a little 
ways from it. The others slowly closed in behind 
the horses, who, with much snorting and startled 
backing and filling, began to straggle through the 
gate. Once in the smaller pasture it was a simple 
matter to drive them into the bronc pen, the gate 
of which was already open. 

‘‘It seems a great deal of trouble to go to just 
for a few broncs,” Dorothy remarked as she 
watched the eighty odd horses running wildly 
about in an effort to escape from their cramped 
quarters. 

“It ’s a nuisance,’ ’ agreed Homer. “But I 
don’t know any other way to get them.” 

For a space she sat silent watching Bert, who 
had entered the pen and was deftly wielding his 


84 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


rope. ‘ ( Gracious 1” she exclaimed suddenly. 
“Why, he ’s letting them all go again / 9 

“That ’s all right/ ’ Homer assured her. 
“He ’s got the two he wants. We can’t break 
more than two at one time.” 

“Very likely not, but I should think you ’d catch 
a dozen and keep them shut up till you want them. 
Mercy ! I feel hungry. ’ 9 

It was after two when they reached the ranch 
house, and no one lost any time washing up and 
seeking the kitchen. 

“Where ’s uncle?” Dorothy asked as she took 
her seat. 

“Sure, an’ he 9 a et his dinner this two hours an’ 
gone for a ride,” Mrs. Reilly informed her. 

“Did he say where he was going?” 

“He did not — nor any other worrd.” Mrs. 
Reilly slapped a dish down on the table with a 
toss of her head. Evidently Mr. Graham had not 
been communicative. 

“Very likely he went to look after some of the 
cattle.” With which comment Dorothy dismissed 
the subject from her mind and devoted her atten- 
tion to dinner, though this did not prevent her 
from keeping up a running fire of comment with 
the two boys which lasted throughout the meal.. 
Bert was silent, and there was an absent look in 


THE SHOT IN THE DUSK 


85 


his eyes and a puzzled frown on his face as he 
swallowed his food mechanically. He was think- 
ing of the ranch owner’s remark that morning 
that he could n ’t make an inspection of the ranch 
that day since he had work enough to keep him 
busy till dusk. At length, when the other rose 
from the table, he looked up with a start. 

* ‘ What are you boys going to do?” he asked. 

“You want us to tackle the broncs, don’t you?” 
sighed Homer. 

i i One of you ’ll do with me to help. ’ ’ He turned 
to Curly. “I wish you ’d take a look through 
Vega pasture and see what ’s become of them 
three broncs I showed you a couple of weeks ago. 
You remember ’em, don’t you? The ones I want 
broken for my mount — two buckskins and a black. 
We missed ’em this morning, and I expect you ’ll 
find ’em over to the west side. ’ ’ 

“All right.” Curly hunched his chap belt 
higher. “What ’ll I do with them?” 

“Nothing. Just see if they ’re all right. They 
generally run with the rest of the bunch, and I 
thought they might have got cut on the wire, or 
something.” 

Curly picked up his hat and started for the door. 
As he glanced toward Dorothy her eyebrows went 
up and her face suddenly became such a perfect 


86 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


interrogation point that he almost laughed aloud 
as he nodded. She followed him quickly and 
Homer came behind. 

4 ‘I sure got the worst of that deal,” he 
grumbled. 4 ‘Breakup broncs all afternoon while 
you go on a nice outing. I s’pose you ’re going 
along,” he added to Dorothy. 

“Of course. Do hurry, Curly, or Bert will come 
out and tell me I can ’t go. ’ ’ 

In the face of such a possibility they lost no time 
in mounting and riding off. Cantering across the 
home pasture, they passed through the gate of 
the larger enclosure and, turning to the left, 
skirted the western side. While Curly kept a 
sharp lookout for the missing horses, Dorothy 
chattered on in her eager, interested way and be- 
fore very long was possessed of every item of in- 
formation, important and otherwise, which Curly 
could think of regarding his own life, besides vol- 
unteering almost as many things about herself. 

She was an orphan, both her parents having 
died when she was very young. Since then her 
home had been with her uncle in Chicago, but two 
or three times every year they made stays of vary- 
ing length at the ranch. She adored the life there. 

“I ’d like to stay here always,” she concluded. 
“I never get tired of it as I do the city. It ’s all 


THE SHOT IN THE DUSK 


87 


so wonderful arid big, and people are more 
friendly. I do wish uncle would settle down here 
for good, but I suppose he could never stand it. 
He does n’t seem to care for it the way I do.” 

She sighed a little and was silent. Presently 
Curly gave a sudden start and pulled out his 
watch. 

“Phew!” he whistled. “After five. We ’d 
better hustle. I had no idea it was so late. It ’ll 
be dark in less than an hour.” 

He had been so interested in their talk that he 
had quite failed to notice how low the sun was. 
They had made a circuit of the western portion 
of the pasture and located the two buckskins but 
not the black. There was no time for this now, 
however, and hastily turning, they started back at 
a gallop. Presently the sun sank behind a gorge- 
ous mass of low-hanging golden-purple clouds, and 
in a very short time the swift southern twilight 
began to fall. 

“I do hope we ’re not going to be caught very 
far out,” Dorothy said anxiously. “I don’t care 
much about riding in the dark ; you feel so uncer- 
tain.” 

“I ’m afraid we will, though,” Curly said con- 
tritely. “And it ’s all my fault, too, never no- 
ticing the time.” 


88 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


“Nonsense, it was my talking,’ ’ laughed the 
girl. “I always talk too much. What ’s that shed 
just ahead of us I” 

“Vega camp,” Curly answered. “Don’t you 
remember we passed to the east of it this morn- 
ing? They don ’t use it now ; this part of the fence 
is looked after from the ranch.” 

They were almost opposite it now — a long, low, 
’dobe structure with shuttered windows and the 
single door half open which gave a more than or- 
dinary impression of desertion and decay. 

“I don’t care for it,” the girl said as they swept 
past the crumbling front. “It looks frightfully 
lonesome.” 

All at once she stiffened in the saddle and caught 
her breath with a sudden, swift intake. “The 
door!” she gasped. “It moved!” 

Curly drew his horse closer. “Nonsense,” he 
said soothingly. “It couldn’t move. It’s the 
shadow that makes it seem so. There ’s no 
one — ” 

Crack ! It seemed as though the pistol had been 
fired at his very elbow. Something struck his hat 
and carried it away. He reached swiftly for his 
gun, but there was another shot, and a sudden, 
burning pain like the searing of a red hot iron bit 
through his shoulder. At the same instant his 
horse reared straight up with a maddened snort 


A sudden burning pain like the searing of a red hot iron bit 

through his shoulder 


« 



t 



















































































































THE SHOT IN THE DUSK 


89 


of terror, wavered in the air a moment and fell 
backward, throwing him a dozen feet away. A 
scream, shrill, terrified, rang in his ears for an in- 
stant, and then the world was blotted out. 


CHAPTER X 


WOUNDED 


HE first thing which made any definite im- 



X pression on the boy in his hazy, chaotic state 
of slowly returning consciousness was a voice, 
faint, soft, and seemingly far away, which kept 
repeating something over and over again with 
monotonous regularity. At first it was just a 
sound; then slowly the meaning came to him. 

i ‘ I won ’t cry ! I won ’t cry ! ’ ’ Then there was 
a strangled sob. “I won’t cry!” 

In a flash Curly ’s mind cleared. It was quite 
dark and he was lying on his back upon the ground. 
His head ached and throbbed and so did one 
shoulder. Also someone knelt beside him fum- 
bling with the collar of his flannel shirt. Then all 
at once, with a quick tightening of his throat, he 
remembered. 

“Jack!” he whispered anxiously. “Are you 
hurt?” 

“O-h!” She gave a shuddering sob. “I — I — 
thought you were — killed.” There was another 
sob, stifled in the middle as she fought for self- 
conti ol. “I must n ’t cry ! ’ 9 she murmured. 


90 


WOUNDED 


91 


There was another pause and when she spoke 
again only the suspicion of a tremor showed in her 
voice. ‘ ‘ Curly — where is it ? Where did he shoot 
you?” 

“In the left shoulder,” Curly answered. “It 
is n ’t bad. ’ ’ 

He tried to raise himself, but his swimming head 
and an unwonted sense of weakness made him drop 
back again. 

“What shall I do? ” Dorothy asked quickly. 

The boy thought a minute. He must have lost 
a lot of blood, he reflected, to make him feel like 
this. “Do — do you s’pose you could cut off the 
sleeve and tie it up?” he asked at length. 
“That ’ll stop the bleeding.” 

“Yes,” she said briefly. “Where ’s your 
knife?” 

He found it in one pocket and held it in his teeth 
while he opened the blade with his right hand. 
She took it silently ; he could feel her fingers slip 
through the unbuttoned collar, and then came the 
soft snip, snip of the knife cutting through flan- 
nel. 

“I ’ll cut it close up to the collar,” she said 
presently, ‘ ‘ so there ’ll be plenty of room. ’ ’ 

Curly made no reply. The uncomfortable diz- 
ziness warned him that he must save all his 
strength for the journey back to the ranch. So 


92 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


he lay quite still while the girl finished cutting the 
sleeve and drew it down over his arm. 

‘ ‘ Now for the bandage/ ’ she said. “Does it 
hurt very much?” 

“Hardly at all; it ’s just a dull pain. I don’t 
believe it ’s even broken.” 

“That ’s good.” 

There was a ripping sound that betokened the 
ruin of a petticoat. Then she turned back to him 
and he could feel the tips of her fingers travelling 
lightly over his shoulders. He knew the instant 
she located the wound by the stifled gasp she gave, 
and realizing how hard it all was for her, he 
ground his teeth in bitter resentment at his help- 
lessness. 

“It ’s a beastly shame, Jack,” he burst out. 
“I wish you did n’t have to do it.” 

“Hush,” she whispered. “I did n’t mean that. 
I was thinking how much it must be hurting you. ’ ’ 

“It doesn’t,” he protested. “Really it 
does n’t. As soon as it ’s tied up I ’ll be all right. ’ ’ 

Without further words she went on with the 
bandaging, making a soft pad first to place against 
the wound, and fastening this tightly in place with 
long strips of stuff. She did it so effectually that 
Curly lay with hands clenched and gritted teeth 
until it was over. When a sling had been im- 
provised with his silk handkerchief, the girl 


WOUNDED 


93 


dropped her hands in her lap with a deep sigh. 

“Now what?” she asked. 

“I reckon we ’d better start back to the ranch,” 
Curly said. “It ’s a beastly long walk, but we 
can’t stay here.” 

“Walk? Why, Rags is here.” 

“He is? Are you sure?” 

‘ ‘ Certainly. He did n ’t run at first, and when 
I got off I threw the reins over his head the way 
you boys do, and he ’s stayed here ever since.” 

“That ’s bully!” exclaimed Curly. “Now you 
can ride and I ’ll walk alongside and hold onto 
the saddle.” 

“Absurd!” declared Dorothy. “I won’t ride. 
There ’s nothing the matter with me. ’ ’ 

“There ’s nothing the matter with my legs, 
either. ’ ’ 

Curly’s tone was firm. He had decided that 
there had been quite enough coddling for the pres- 
ent, so he stuck to his point. At length they 
reached a compromise by which each would take 
a turn on the horse, and having settled that Curly 
rose slowly to his feet. 

As he did so he staggered and involuntarily 
caught hold of the girl ’s arm. His head swam and 
there was a whirring in his ears. He wondered 
whether he had struck a rock in falling. At length 
he manged to reach the horse and caught hold of 


94 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


the stirrup. As he stood there, breathing hard 
and trying to clear his fogged brain, he suddenly 
missed something. 

‘ ‘ Where ’s my gun V ’ he asked abruptly. 

Dorothy hesitated an instant. “I — I ’ve got 
it, ’ ’ she said. “I ’ll put it back in your scabbard. ’ ’ 

While she was doing this he watched her dully. 

“Did it fall out?” 

Again there was a barely perceptible pause be- 
fore she answered. 

“No, I took it.” 

“Why?” 

“I thought he — Oh, I thought I might need it. 
Come, do get on Rags, Curly, and let ’s start. 

“I ’m not going to ride first.” 

“Curly — please!” she entreated. 

“I ’m not going to ride first,” he repeated in 
precisely the same tone. 

Without another word she hastily mounted and 
when he had taken a good grip in the stirrup 
leather, they started slowly in the direction of the 
ranch. 

To Curly the details of that interminable 
journey ever afterwards remained a fogged and 
hazy memory. He seemed unable to think, or 
plan, or direct. All he could do was to hold on 
like grim death and try to fight off that hateful 
dizziness and weakness which threatened to over- 


WOUNDED 95 

power him. His feet were like lead, and at almost 
every step he stumbled. 

At length when it seemed as if they had been 
going half the night and must surely have passed 
the ranch house in the darkness, Dorothy halted 
and slipping down announced in a firm tone that 
they had made half of the distance and that he 
must ride. He was too weak to protest and pres- 
ently, without knowing exactly how he got there, 
he found himself swaying in the saddle, holding 
tightly to the horn, while the girl walked along- 
side with one arm raised to steady him. 

There came another indefinite interval, Curly 
did not know how long or short. He remembered 
vaguely a fence with a gate in it which the girl 
opened and shut. Then he found himself watch- 
ing a firefly bobbing about in front of him which 
behaved oddly and after a time seemed to be grow- 
ing larger. He wondered dully why there were 
no others to keep it company. The whirring in 
his ears began to sound strangely like the beat 
of a horse’s hoofs. Then, all at once, the firefly 
turned into a lantern carried by a white-faced 
man on a big roan, who came madly out of the 
darkness and pulled up with a jerk that raised a 
cloud of dust all about them. 

1 i Dorothy ! ’ 9 gasped the man in a queer, strained 
voice. ‘ 1 Dorothy ! Are you safe ? ’ ’ 


96 


CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


Then, into the boy's clouded brain came a reali- 
zation that it was Mr. Graham. It did not seem 
odd that he should be here, but Curly wondered 
why he had left his hat behind, and why one of the 
boys had not come along with a spare horse. In 
thinking about this he missed the girl's reply and 
it was Mr. Graham's voice that caught his atten- 
tion again. There was a very curious quality 
about that voice, almost as though some great emo- 
tion — fear or rage or horror, was tearing him to 
bits inside and showing a little on the surface when 
he talked. 

“I didn't know — " he stammered, drawing one 
hand across his forehead. “I had no idea you 
were here. What on earth induced you — " 

He broke off and turned suddenly on Curly. 
Anger was the dominating emotion now — anger 
pure and simple. 

“Get off that horse!" he exclaimed furiously. 
“WLat do you mean by letting my niece walk, you 
cowardly — " 

“Uncle, be still!" cried the girl sharply. 
“Can't you see he 's wounded — shot. He cau 
hardly stand." 

A sudden wave of bitter humiliation swept over 
the boy. WLat could he have been thinking of to 
sit that horse and let a girl walk? She had said 
he couldn't stand; he 'd show them. He kicked 


WOUNDED 


97 


one foot out of the stirrup. Confound that beastly 
noise in his head ! The ground, too, seemed to be 
moving up and down in a most extraordinary way. 

He raised himself weakly in the saddle; some- 
how he got his leg over. Before the girl realized 
what he was doing, he stood beside her for a single, 
brief moment. And then, quite suddenly, his 
knees crumpled under him and he slid down into 
a heap at her feet 


CHAPTER XI 


,MYSTEKY 

H E must have heard us through the door,” 
said Homer, tilting the chair against the 
wall and hooking his spurs under the rung. 
“Baldy had been asking where Jack was and as 
I was telling him I heard a noise outside and got 
a glimpse of Graham beating it away from the 
bunk-house. In half a minute we heard a horse 
going like mad, so we all piled out and followed, 
thinking something was wrong.” 

Curly moved uneasily on the narrow iron bed. 
4 ‘He had a lantern, didn’t he?” 

“Sure. Grabbed it up from the steps where 
Poley ’d left it. We followed him by that. When 
we got up to you I was so plumb surprised I just 
yawped for a spell. There was you looking like 
a corpse, with your head in Jack’s lap, and she 
trying to fix the bandages and crying like the 
dickens. Old man Graham was standing along- 
side just glowering at the two of you. It was 
Poley who whirled in and took hold. He sent back 
to the ranch for a couple of blankets and we car- 
ried you in on those and put you to bed. ’ ’ 

98 


MYSTERY 


99 


Curly lay thoughtfully silent, for a moment or 
two. “Did — did Graham say anything about how 
he happened to — know where we were V ’ he asked 
presently. 

“I heard him telling Poley that he heard the 
shots while he was coming through the home pas- 
ture, but not knowing /anyone was out there he 
didn’t pay any attention to ’em. It was only 
when he heard us telling about you and Jack that 
he got excited and hustled out. ’ ’ 

“Hm,” murmured Curly. “Seems funny to 
hear gunshots and not think anything of ’em. 
Still — How ’s Jack?” he broke off. 

“She was about all in that night, but she picked 
up pretty quick. Looks a little peaked yet, 
though. ’ ’ 

Curly made no comment, and presently Homer 
let down his chair and stretching out his legs 
thoughtfully inspected his spurs. 

“I don’t s’pose you could see who fired the 
shots?” he asked after a moment’s silence. 

“No, I couldn’t, or I ’d have told you before.” 

Curly’s tone was a trifle pettish. His shoulder 
pained him and the pillows weren’t comfortable. 
Besides, he was tired of lying in bed, even though 
it was a real bed in the ranch house instead of his 
own collection of blankets and tarp spread out on 
the floor. 


100 CUBLY OF THE CIBCLE BAB 

“Didn’t you even get a glimpse?” persisted 
Homer. 

“How could I with my back to the cabin? I 
don’t even know whether it was man, woman or — ” 
He stopped abruptly as something flashed into his 
mind. “Gee! I ’d forgotten that.” 

“What?” Homer was agog with interest. 

“I ’ve got an idea that Jack saw him. When 
I came to she asked me where he had shot me ; and 
afterwards I found she ’d taken my gun out of 
the scabbard. I reckon she was afraid he might 
follow up his fine work. ’ ’ 

4 4 1 could have told you that much, ’ ’ said Homer 
decidedly. 4 4 It was a man, and a big one, if you 
can tell anything from the size of his feet. The 
dust in the cabin was all tracked up when we went 
out yesterday morning. He must have been there 
for quite some time.” 

Curly was silent for a moment. 4 4 Pedro ’s got 
small feet,” he remarked presently. 

4 4 They weren’t Pedro’s feet,” Homer said em- 
phatically; 4 4 leastwise, not his boots.” 

“I s’pose he could have other boots on.” But 
there was no conviction in Curly’s voice. 

4 4 He could, but it ain’t likely. He wouldn’t 
think of it. Besides, where would he get the boots. 
I wonder — ” 


MYSTERY 


101 


A light tap on th^ door interrupted him, and 
Dorothy’s voice was heard outside asking if she 
might come in. 

“Wait a minute,” said Curly hastily, with a 
hasty glance around the room. “Say, kid, throw 
those clothes under the bed, and put the tray on 
the table, and — oh, gee! Never mind. The place 
looks like the deuce, but I can’t help it. Just pull 
the blankets up a bit, and don ’t touch that blamed 
shoulder or I ’ll explode.” 

Homer did as he was requested without causing 
any outbreak, and then opened the door. Dorothy 
hesitated an instant on the threshold, and then 
came quickly to the bedside. And as Curly looked 
into her face, still a little pale and worn, with 
shadows under the eyes which forty-eight hours 
of rest had failed to obliterate, a lump rose in his 
throat making speech for the moment impossible. 

“How ’s the invalid this morning?” the girl 
asked with a smile, taking his hand in her firm, 
cool fingers. 

“Fine,” Curly said. He hesitated an instant. 
“I want to thank you, Jack,” he went on in a low 
tone, “for — ” 

“Please don’t,” she broke in quickly. “You 
must n’t thank me. I only tried to do what one of 
the boys would have done, and wasn’t very sue- 


102 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


cessf ul at that. ’ ’ She gave his hand a squeeze and 
the smile came ♦back. “You don’t look a bit com- 
fortable.’ ’ 

“I ’m not,” confessed Curly. The pillows — ” 

“Of course,” she interrupted briskly. 
4 4 They ’re all in a heap. Mrs. Reilly, I suppose I ’ ’ 

He nodded. 

4 4 She ’s a splendid cook, ’ ’ the girl went on, 4 4 but 
I can give her points on this sort of thing. Lift 
him up, Homer, while I fix them. Easy, now. ’ ’ 

Homer complied gingerly and the girl shook 
out the pillows and deftly arranged them at a 
smooth angle. Curly sank back with a sigh of 
relief. 4 4 That ’s bully ! ” he said. 4 4 My neck was 
bent all out of shape.” 

4 4 Say, Jack,” Homer broke in, 4 4 did you see who 
fired those shots?” 

Dorothy did not answer at once. She seemed 
to be thinking rapidly and the bright smile faded 
from her face. 4 4 When the first shot came,” she 
began, speaking slowly with her eyes downcast, 

4 4 Rags jumped to one side and turned completely 
around so that I faced the cabin door. There was 
— a man crouching there, his gun aimed at us. As 
I looked he fired again and Curly fell, and I think 
I screamed. It was dreadful!” 

She covered her face with her hands as though 


MYSTERY 103 

trying to shut out the memory of that moment. 
It was Homer who broke the silence. 

“Was he tall or short!” he probed gently. 
Dorothy’s hands dropped to her lap. “Tall — 
quite tall,” she said. “Though he bent over his 
hat reached nearly to the top of the doorway. ’ ’ 
“Did you notice how he was dressed?” 

“Not especially. Very much as you boys, I 
think.” Her fingers locked and interlocked 
nervously. “His hat was pulled over his face; 
it was broad brimmed with a square top. I don’t 
think he wore chaps. ’ ’ 

“Did you see where he went?” 

The girl sprang up and crossed to the window 
where she stood looking out. “ No, ” she answered 
without turning around. “When Curly fell I 
thought he ’d been killed, and I was almost crazy. 
I tumbled off Rags and went over to where he lay, 
and then it suddenly struck me that the man might 
— might do something more. I was nearly fright- 
ened to death and pulled Curly’s gun out of the 
scabbard and looked around. But there was no 
one there; he had gone. I — ” She wheeled 
swiftly and both boys saw that her eyes were 
moist and her lips trembling. “Don’t let ’s talk 
about it any more,” she begged. “I — I ’ve been 
trying to forget it ever since.” 


104 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

‘ 4 What a beast I am,” Homer exclaimed con- 
tritely. “I won’t say another word. I was so 
anxious to find out that I did n ’t think a bit about 
how you were feeling. ’ ’ 

The girl smiled tremulously but with obvious 
relief. “I know you did n’t/ ’ she said. “And 
I know I ’m a perfect fool to feel this way, but I 
can ’t help it . 7 7 

“Mother of Heaven! Are yez here yet wor- 
ritin’ a sick lad with your talk,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Reilly from the doorway. “Be oil with yez!” 

She advanced with a heavy tread, flopping her 
apron as though they were chickens. Homer fled 
at once, while Dorothy lingered to argue. But 
neither her expostulations nor Curly’s made any 
impression upon the good woman. 

“Not a worrd,” she said firmly. “A half hour 
yez was to have an’ ’tis now two be the clock. 
Away with yez !•’ ’ 

Having ejected the visitors, Mrs. Reilly pro- 
ceeded to clean up the room, moving about with an 
ostentatious stealthiness and making her remarks 
in a penetrating whisper which so rasped Curly’s 
nerves that he wondered if she would never go. 
But at last she was finished and, partly drawing 
the shade, departed with much squeaking of shoes 
and rustling of starched petticoats. 


MYSTERY 


105 


Left alone, Curly lay for a long while in puz- 
zled cogitation. As soon as he had been able to 
think about the shooting at all he had naturally 
laid it at Pedro’s door. It did seem almost in- 
credible that a man’s mind could be so distorted 
as to lead him to such lengths merely to revenge 
a petty slight, but the thing had been possible. 
Now, with Pedro out of it, Curly was utterly at 
sea. What enemy had he who would go to such 
lengths and take such risks ? Above all, what was 
the motive? Once there flashed into his mind 
a memory of Mr. Graham’s face as he had first 
seen it that night — pale, distorted, horrified. 
But though he had disliked the man from the first, 
and felt that dislike returned, he could not for an 
instant bring himself to believe him capable of 
such an outrage. And even were that remotely 
possible, the question of a motive loomed big and 
insoluble as ever. 

More than once during the days of convalescence 
which followed, the problem was in the boy’s mind, 
puzzling and mystifying. Even when he was up 
and about with his arm in a sling, it remained to 
vex him, a subconscious sort of thing apt to pop 
up at unexpected times and places. It troubled 
him much more than did the possibility of a second 
attempt against him following the first. That was 


106 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


something tangible, a thing to be faced and dealt 
with when it came — if it ever should, and he lost 
no sleep over it. The other was a mystery, and 
mysteries of that sort- are rarely pleasant. 


CHAPTER XII 


MR. KERNS ARRIVES 

U NCLE will be back Thursday,’ ’ remarked 
Dorothy from her seat on the toprail of the 
bronc pen. 

Curly straightened up from the saddle he was 
repairing. 4 ‘That so?” he drawled, hitching up 
his chap belt. 

“Yes. I had a letter from him this morning 
saying that he was leaving Galveston Wednesday 
night.” 

The boy was silent for a moment. “I s’pose 
that means you ’ll have to go home pretty soon,” 
he said, after a while. 

Dorothy sighed. “I ’m afraid so. I ’ve never 
been here so long at a stretch before and I sup- 
pose I ought to be thankful, but I ’m not — par- 
ticularly. I notice one isn’t very often thankful 
about things which are over and done with.” 

Curly laughed. “You ’d probably be more 
thankful if he said you could stay another month.” 

“I certainly should,” she agreed emphatically. 
“I ’d be so thankful it would be like being in 
church.” She sprang lightly to the ground and 
shook out her skirts. 


107 


108 CUELY OF THE CIECLE BAE 


‘ 4 Well, you ’ll have the summer to look forward 
to,” Curly remarked, as he hoisted the saddle on 
his shoulder and started for the gate. “You gen- 
erally come down in June, don’t you?” 

“About then. But think of being cooped up in 
the city all that time. It ’s horrid ! ” 

“What ’s horrid?” inquired Homer, appearing 
at that moment. * ‘ Curly been abusing you ? ’ ’ 

“No, silly, of course not,” she retorted. 
“Uncle ’s coming back to take me home, and — 
oh, dear! I forgot the worst of it. He ’s bring- 
ing a friend along and says I must be very nice 
to him. I don’t think I care much for uncle’s 
friends,” she continued thoughtfully; “at least, 
most of them.” 

She remained in a brown study until they 
reached the wagon shed where Curly hung up his 
saddle. Then she looked up suddenly. 

“Heavens!” she exclaimed. “I hope to good- 
ness it ’s not that awful Kerns man. I hate the 
sight of him.” 

“What ’s his trouble?” asked Homer grinning. 

“Oh, he ’s detestable; and the most stupid per- 
son I ’ve ever seen. Web, I won’t be nice to him, 
so there!” She stamped her foot with vigor. 
“Nobody can make me nice.” 

“I would n’t like the job if you were set on being 
the other thing, ’ ’ Homer said slyly. 


MR. KERNS ARRIVES 


109 


“Probably he isn’t the one at all,” Curly put 
in. “Let ’s forget it and go for a ride.” 

The suggestion was favorably received by the 
others and in ten minutes they were racing south- 
ward over the prairie. 

In the bunk-house that night there was quite a 
gathering. Poley and Red had come in from one 
of the camps and Baldy was also present. The 
announcement of Mr. Graham’s impending arrival 
was received coldly. He was not a favorite, and 
his brief trip to Galveston had been the cause of 
much satisfaction to them all. The fact that a 
friend was accompanying him aroused more in- 
terest, as the arrival of a stranger always does on 
a ranch, and there was considerable speculation 
as to who or what he might be. 

That he was a person of some consequence be- 
came evident when Bert returned next morning. 
No sooner had he read the letter from Mr. Graham 
which awaited him, than he requested Mrs. Reilly 
to prepare one of the extra rooms in the ranch 
house for a guest. Moreover, while this was be- 
ing done he inspected the process several times, 
though always assuming the elaborately careless 
air of one just glancing in while happening to pass 
by. Mrs. Reilly, however, was not deceived and 
her gorge rose at this exhibition of distrust in her 
ability. At his third appearance she laid aside 


110 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


her broom and faced him with arms akimbo. 

‘‘Well, Mr. Hanson/ ’ she said sharply, “an’ 
what might yez be wantin’ ?” 

“Er — nothing, Mrs. Reilly,” Bert answered 
hastily. “I was just passing, and—” 

“Passin’, is it?” sniffed the good lady sarcastic- 
ally. “Do you think it ’s a phool I am? If 
you ’re afraid I ain’t able to do me work proper,” 
she went on with some heat, “I ’d recommend ye 
to turn it over to somebody else.” 

Bert felt the perspiration standing out on his 
forehead. “Not at all, Mrs. Reilly, not at all,” 
he stammered. “I — I only thought — er — Mr. 
Graham’s friend, you know — ” 

Mrs. Reilly folded her arms over her ample per- 
son and a sardonic smile appeared on her face. 
“Mr. Graham’s friend, indade!” she snorted. 
“Mebbe you ’d like lace curtains hung up in the 
winder, an’ a gilt lookin ’-glass an’ some oil paint- 
in ’s on the wall. It ’s a pity, now, ye did n ’t think 
to bring home some Brussels carpet to save his 
feet, and — ” 

But Bert had fled before the torrent of words, 
and Mrs. Reilly resumed her work, an expression 
of satisfaction on her face. Several times during 
the next hour, however, she frowned, and from her 
pursed lips there issued muttered comments re- 


MR. KERNS ARRIVES 111 

garding Mr. Graham *s friend that were far from 
flattering to that individual. 

Directly after breakfast next morning, Homer 
was given instructions to harness up the grays 
and be in Romero to meet the morning train from 
Galveston. He grumbled perfunctorily, but it 
was evident that he was far from displeased at 
this chance of getting to town, and of having the 
first glimpse of the much discussed stranger. In- 
deed, as he rattled out of the corral, it seemed to 
Curly and Dorothy, who watched him, that he had 
taken on quite an air of superiority. 

“Wait till he comes back,” remarked Dorothy 
with emphasis. “If it ’s that awful Clarence 
Kerns, he ’ll be worn to a frazzle. ’ ’ 

Three hours later the two were in the harness 
room, Curly mending a bridle and Dorothy perched 
on a nail-keg watching him, when a tremendous 
clatter arose outside. Hastily rushing to the win- 
dow, they beheld the returning wagon careening 
on two wheels as it rounded the sharp turn at the 
foot of the rise leading to the ranch house. Homer 
was in front, driving with reckless abandon. Be- 
hind sat Mr. Graham smoking a cigar in scowling 
silence, and a tall, thin young man with a nose like 
a beak, clad in an ulster of appalling loudness. He 
sat well forward, his arms on the back of the front 


112 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

seat, and seemed to be carrying on an animated 
conversation with Homer, who looked extremely 
sullen and unhappy. Dorothy took one look at 
them and then stepped quickly out of sight. 

“It ’s him!” she gasped, with small regard for 
grammar. “I felt it in my bones.” 

Curly saw them drive up to the ranch house, 
where the two men stepped out. Mr. Kerns 
paused a moment, apparently to finish some re- 
mark, and then disappeared inside, leaving Homer 
to drive frantically toward the corral. A few mo- 
ments later he burst in upon them, dropped the 
harness in a heap on the floor, and sank down on 
a horse blanket. 

4 ‘ Help ! ” he gasped. ‘ ‘ Fan me, kid. I ’m all 
in.” 

While Curly obliged him, Dorothy’s face took 
on an expression of extreme demureness. “Did 
you have a nice drive, Homer? ” she asked sweetly. 
“And how do you like Mr. Kerns?” 

Homer merely glanced at her in silence. It was 
a very expressive look. 

“You don’t mean it?” Dorothy gurgled. “As 
bad as that? I hope he didn’t talk a great 
deal.” 

“Talk!” burst out Homer. “He did nothing 
else all the way from town. I never heard any- 
body talk so much and say so little in all my life. 


MR. KERNS ARRIVES 


113 


And such darn-fool questions you never heard out 
of a grown man. You might have warned a fel- 
low, Jack,” he went on reproachfully. 

“Didn’t I say he was awful?” she demanded. 
“Did n’t I say I hated the sight of him? But you 
wouldn’t believe it, and now you ’ve found out 
for yourself. He ’s a pest!” 

“You ’ve said it!” agreed Homer with convic- 
tion. “The only fun I see we can get out of him 
is to tell him thundering stories every time he asks 
a question. ’ ’ 

Dorothy’s face brightened at the suggestion. 
“That ’s a good idea,” she said. “He ’s such an 
idiot he ’ll believe anything. Only we ’ll have to 
be careful when uncle ’s around; he ’d stop us.” 

“What did your uncle bring him down for, any- 
how?” put in Curly. 

Dorothy did not answer at once. “I ’m not 
quite sure,” she said at length, a pucker in her 
forehead. “He ’s got loads of money, I believe, 
and it may be uncle ’s trying to get him to buy the 
ranch. He ’d like to sell it, you know, if he could 
get the right price.” 

“But you don’t want it sold, do you?” 

She shook her head vigorously. “Of course I 
don’t; it would be simply hateful not to have this 
to come to. But — but what I want, or don’t want 
does n’t make any impression on uncle in— in busi- 


114 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


ness matters. He knows I love this place, but I ’m 
afraid just the same he ’d sell it the first chance 
he got without — thinking of me at all.” 

For a moment both boys were silent. Then sud- 
denly Homer laughed. “It ’s up to us, then,” 
he said quickly, “to make things so darn unpleas- 
ant here for Mr. Kerns that he ’ll never want to 
see Texas again, let alone buy a ranch and settle 
down — eh, Jack?” 

Her lips curved in a smile. “It — it might 
help,” she agreed. “Only we mustn’t overdo 
it.” 

“Trust us. Gee! Isn’t it ’most dinner-time? 
I ’m starved.” 

They slipped into the house by the kitchen door 
and, finding dinner already on the table, hastened 
to wash up. They had barely finished when the 
door into the hall opened and the two men en- 
tered, followed by Bert. Mr. Kerns at once spied 
the girl and advanced hastily with hand out- 
stretched and an ingratiating smile on his narrow, 
sallow face. 

“Well, me little gell!” he exclaimed. “And 
how are you? More like a blooming rose than 
ever, bah Jove!” 

Dorothy gave him the tip of one finger. “I ’m 
pretty well, thank you,” she said frostily. 

“D’you know, I believe you ’ve grown,” Mr. 


MR. KERNS ARRIVES 115 

Kerns went on, looking her over. “Yes, posi- 
tively — I believe you have.” 

“It ’s quite possible,” Dorothy answered com- 
posedly, slipping into her chair. ‘ 4 One does grow. 
Will you sit over there, Mr. Kerns.” 

“But really now! In six months?” 

“Is it that long since I saw you last?” the girl 
asked. ‘ 1 Why, it hardly seems — ’ ’ 

She stopped abruptly and her lips twitched. 
Happily Mr. Kerns did not seem to notice the 
break. He was engaged in surveying the kitchen 
through a monocle which was attached to his per- 
son by a wide black ribbon. 

“Quite chawming — yes, really quite!” he re- 
marked. “Rough, of course, but simple — chawm- 
ingly simple.” 

At that moment Curly’s glance fell upon Mrs. 
Reilly, who stood directly behind Mr. Kerns’ 
chair, her head cocked a little to one side and her 
eyes intently regarding the geometrical parting of 
his thin blond hair. Her expression was such an 
extraordinary mixture of amazement, incredulity 
and disgust that the boy choked suddenly and burst 
into a prolonged fit of coughing. By the time he 
had recovered, the good lady had retired to the 
stove with sundry tossings of the head and move- 
ments of her lips, but fortunately without speech. 
From the glimpse he had had of her face, how- 


116 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


ever, Curly decided that this self-denial was 
merely temporary. 

4 4 And what do you do with yourself all day?” 
Mr. Kerns was inquiring. 

“Oh, lots of things,” Dorothy answered 
vaguely. “We ride, and — ” she shot a swift 
glance at her uncle who was deep in conversation 
with Bert. “We ride, and round up cattle,” she 
went on rapidly, “and break broncs.” 

Mr. Kerns was visibly impressed. “And what 
are broncs?” he asked. 

“Those are the wild horses of the plains which 
have never been ridden , ’ 1 Dorothy explained seri- 
ously. i ‘ They have to be broken to the saddle. ’ ’ 

“But I say, now!” he protested. “Such rough 
work for a gell!” 

Her limpid eyes grew wide with innocence. 4 4 It 
is hard work,” she said simply, “but I like it.” 

Homer’s face turned suddenly scarlet with sup- 
pressed emotion. 

“My word!” exclaimed Mr. Kerns. “Ex- 
trawordinary! Eh? Coffee? A little later, me 
good woman, in a small cup.” 

“We have no small cups.” Mrs. Reilly’s voice 
was adamant. 

“Oh, very well; leave it.” 

The cup was deposited on the table with an em- 
phasis which caused a small tidal wave to inun- 


117 


MR. KERNS ARRIVES 

date the saucer, and Mrs. Reilly retired with an 
eloquent snort. There was a brief pause — ex- 
tremely brief — before Mr. Kerns veered suddenly 
to another topic. 

“Dinner at noon,” he murmured. “Chawm- 
ingly simple! Now I suppose you get up pretty 
early. ’ ’ 

“Yes, fairly early.” Dorothy’s tone was de- 
mure. “Breakfast is on the table at five.” 

Mr. Kerns was horrified. “Five o’clock!” he 
gasped. “ But, d’you know, I never got up at five 
o’clock in all me life?” 

“Really?” Dorothy inquired. “How odd!” 
She appeared to ponder over the thought. 4 4 Well, 
being a guest, perhaps you won’t have to. Mrs. 
Reilly will keep breakfast for you; she ’s very ac- 
commodating. ’ ’ 

She looked suddenly at that lady, who stood by 
the stove, hands on her hips, taking in the con- 
versation with every appearance of interest. As 
Dorothy caught her eye — Mr. Kerns’ attention be- 
ing momentarily diverted — the girl deliberately 
winked. For an instant Mrs. Reilly’s gaze was 
fixed on hers in staring bewilderment. Then a 
dawning smile of satisfied understanding spread 
slowly over her face, and as she opened the oven 
door she began to hum a little tune under her 
breath. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE BAITING OF CLAKENCE 

ND — er — just pick out a tame one, me good 



fellow.’ 


“Sure thing !” Curly shook out his rope with 
suspicious eagerness. 

Somehow Mr. Kerns’ voice lacked its customary 
assurance. He was, in fact, obviously ill at ease 
as he stood near the corral watching the horses 
which Homer and Curly had just driven in. The 
feeling that he was not properly garbed could 
scarcely have been the cause of this condition, for 
Mr. Kerns’ equipment was quite the latest thing 
from Bond Street. To be sure, the ordinary on- 
looker might have found the baggy riding 
breeches, the patent leather boots and close-fitting 
cutaway somewhat out of keeping with the place 
and the conditions, but such an idea never oc- 
curred to Mr. Kerns. In his mind what was fash- 
ionable in London must be correct anywhere, and 
his thoughts were centered, not on his clothes, but 
upon his probable mount. And as he watched the 
plunging, rearing, kicking mass of horseflesh in 
the corral, he was conscious of a disagreeable sink- 
ing of the diaphragm, and found himself wishing 


118 


THE BAITING OF CLARENCE 119 


that he had not been quite so emphatic in boasting 
of his ability as a horseman. 

However, it was too late now to back out. He 
could only make the best of a bad job, and trust 
to luck to come out of the scrape with some few 
shreds of reputation remaining. Dorothy stood 
beside him chatting unconcernedly, and when 
Homer brought out Rags, she took the reins from 
his hand, turned the stirrup, stuck in her toe and 
swung herself into the saddle with the uncon- 
scious grace and practised ease of second nature. 

Mr. Kerns was aware of an envious pang as he 
observed this out of the tail of his eye, but the 
next instant all his attention was centered in 
Curly, who had entered the corral, rope in hand. 
With bated breath he watched the boy approach 
a group of horses crowded into the far corner, saw 
him give the rope a limbering swing or two, and 
with a gasp beheld it slide neatly over the neck 
of a roan, whose looks and actions he disliked more, 
almost, than any animal he had ever seen. 

The saddling, however, was accomplished with 
ease and Mr. Kerns ventured to breathe again. 
Perhaps he had misjudged the brute. The animal 
couldn’t help his looks, to be sure. By the time 
Curly led him out, he managed to assume a non- 
chalance he was far from feeling as he took the 
reins from the boy’s hand. 


120 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


‘ ‘ Quite a rangy animal, bah Jove ! ’ ’ he remarked. 
“A bit furry, but — Whoa, you beast! Whoa, 
there, I say ! ’ ’ 

While talking, he had carelessly placed his hand 
on the cantle of the saddle and quite naturally the 
animal gave a startled leap away from him, pull- 
ing the reins out of his grasp. Fortunately Curly 
had been rather expecting something of the sort, 
and grabbed them in time. 

“I think you ’d do better if you stood by his 
neck and turned the stirrup/ ’ he said seriously. 
“You have to watch them pretty carefully in 
mounting. , 9 And he illustrated briefly. 

Mr. Kerns picked up his cap which had been 
jostled off. “You don’t say!” he remarked, set- 
tling it firmly over his ears. “Deuced odd way, 
y’ know.” 

He tried it, however, and was successful in 
scrambling into the saddle and getting his stirrups. 
Then he began to fumble with the bridle reins, be- 
ing quite unable to decide what to do with the long, 
dangling ends. He was still engaged in this prob- 
lem when he happened to loosen up on them, and 
the horse gave a sudden jump forward which 
threw him half out of his saddle and caused him 
to clutch wildly at the animal’s neck for support. 

Dorothy ’s face assumed an expression of pleased 


THE BAITING OF CLARENCE 121 

interest. “ Really, Mr. Kerns,’ ’ she cooed, “I 
had no idea you were so fond of animals. It ’s 
quite wasted on the horses about here, though. I 
used to try and make mine love me, but it was 
simply impossible.” 

By this time Mr. Kerns, much flushed, had re- 
sumed a vertical position and gave up trying to do 
anything with the reins save keep a tight hold on 
them. His right hand rested on the saddle horn, 
whose possibilities as an anchor had just occurred 
to him. 

“My word, yes!” he stammered. “Quite im- 
possible, I see. Not like me own cobs at all. ” 

Curly and Homer joining them at this moment, 
they all started off at a lope. For the first few 
moments Mr. Kerns swayed perilously from side 
to side, but thanks to his clutch on the saddle horn, 
and to the smooth easy gait of the cayuse, Ranger, 
he retained his seat. 

The two punchers had business in Vega pasture, 
but it was quickly finished and they all rode on 
rather aimlessly westward. Suddenly Homer 
pulled up. 

“Let ’s go and have a look at Black Devil,” he 
exclaimed . “You never saw him, did you, J ack ? ’ ’ 

“Black Devil? No. What is he — a horse?” 

“ Yep. He ’s a beaut, too, but a regular outlaw 


}22 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

and just as bad as they come. I don’t know why 
Bert keeps him, except that he ’s such a good 
looker. ’ 9 

‘ ‘All right, let ’s go. Where is he?” 

“In the old corral down by the orchard,” Homer 
answered. “Bert keeps him there because he 
killed two or three of the stock when he was loose 
here.” 

With one accord they wheeled southward and in 
about ten minutes came in sight of the old corral, 
an enclosure of some twenty acres which had been 
little used of late owing to its inconvenient dis- 
tance from the ranch house. Riding up to the 
fence, they scanned the interior closely for a 
glimpse of its occupant. 

“There he is,” Curly said presently, pointing 
to the far side. “He ’s feeding by that cotton- 
wood.” 

The words were scarcely spoken before the horse 
turned and started toward them at a run. And 
as he came nearer, head high and splendid mane 
and tail tossing in the wind, they could see the 
play and ripple of great muscles beneath the 
satiny, coal-black skin, and note the long, easy, 
powerful stride with which he covered the ground. 

i ‘ What a beauty ! 9 ’ Dorothy exclaimed. ‘ ‘ What 
a perfect beauty ! Oh, I should love a horse like 
that.” 


THE BAITING OF CLARENCE 123 


Homer smiled grimly but said nothing. On 
came the horse, straight as a die, and without per- 
ceptibly slackening his pace until he was within 
a few feet of the fence. Then he stopped short 
and, rearing to his full height, brought his fore- 
feet against the top rail with a crash which cracked 
it from end to end. At the same time he uttered 
a neigh, so shrill and vicious, so full of rage and 
fury, that the girl shrank back instinctively, while 
Mr. Kerns almost tumbled from his saddle in sur- 
prise. 

Finding that he could not get through the fence, 
the outlaw screamed again and tore up the ground 
with his hoofs. Then, wheeling about, he seized 
hold of a fence-post with his bared teeth and began 
to worry it, shaking his head from side to side, 
with ears laid back and blood-shot eyes rolling 
hideously. 

Dorothy turned her horse swiftly. 4 4 Come away 
— do!” she urged in a low tone. 4 ‘I can’t bear to 
see an animal behave that way. ’ ’ 

They followed her, and for a few moments rode 
in silence. This was broken by Mr. Kerns, quite 
with the air of one making a discovery. 

4 4 1 say, though ! ” he exclaimed. 4 4 What a mon- 
ster !” 

4 4 He sure is,” Homer agreed. 4 4 He ’s earned 
his name, all right.” 


124 CUELY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

“I wonder why Bert keeps him,” Dorothy 
mused. 6 1 Surely no one could ever ride him.” 

“Well, I shouldn’t say quite that,” Curly re- 
marked. “I never yet saw a horse that somebody 
couldn’t ride.” 

Dorothy looked unconvinced. ‘ ‘ It does n ’t seem 
possible to me. Could you do it?” she asked 
pointedly. 

Curly hesitated. “I think so,” he said at 
length. i i I certainly would n ’t be crazy about it, 
but I ’d make a try at it if I had to. He really 
is n’t as bad as he looks. A lot of it ’s bluff, you 
know. ’ ’ 

“He ’s quite bad enough,” the girl said decid- 
edly. 

Then she suddenly remembered that Mr. Kerns 
had enjoyed a rather lengthy respite, and started 
at a gallop which continued, with a brief inter- 
mission at the gate, until they were back at the 
ranch house. The three kept well together, but 
Mr. Kerns trailed behind, stirrups flopping, 
bouncing about in the saddle and giving short, 
breathless gasps as he clung to the horn with both 
hands. When they stopped suddenly at the 
kitchen door, he executed a neat parabola and 
landed against the side of the house with such 
force that Mrs. Reilly appeared to inquire if they 
meant to bring down the roof over her head. For- 


THE BAITING OF CLABENCE 125 


tunately he escaped with a few minor contusions, 
but his nerves were in such a condition that he was 
obliged to retire for the remainder of the after- 
noon to rest. 


CHAPTER XIV 


BLACK DEVIL, OUTLAW 


LL that afternoon the men straggled in from 



n the line camps in twos and threes, for Bert 
had summoned them to the ranch to make ready 
for the spring work. At suppertime the kitchen 
was well crowded, and the presence of the owner 
and his guest had little effect on the babel of talk 
as everyone compared notes with everybody else 
and heard all the news that was going. There 
were occasional pauses, to be sure, and during one 
of them Dorothy looked over at Bert. 

“Why do you keep Black Devil, Bert?” she 
asked. 

“Why, I don’t know.” Bert looked rather sur- 
prised. “I don’t like to shoot him, and you can’t 
sell him. Of course nobody ’ll ride him.” 

“Couldn’t he be broken?” the girl asked 
eagerly. “Curly says he could ride him.” 

Mr. Graham turned his head suddenly and 
glanced at the boy, who was talking to Poley. 
Then his eyes fell to the plate in front of him. 
Bert smiled. 


126 


BLACK DEVIL, OUTLAW 127 

“Maybe be could,’ ’ he said grimly; “but I have 
my doubts.” 

“It seems a shame that such a beautiful horse 
should have such a dreadful temper,” Dorothy 
continued. “I wish something could be done with 
him.” 

“It is too bad,” Bert agreed. “But I ’m afraid 
he ’s too old to learn anything now.” 

Mr. Graham suddenly roused himself and turned 
to his friend. “How would you like to have a lit- 
tle riding contest to-morrow, Clarence?” he asked 
with great heartiness. 

Mr. Kerns turned pale. “Why — I — Eeally, 
I ’m afraid I shall be too — er — stiff to ride for a 
couple of days,” he said hastily. 

£ 1 Oh, I don ’t mean that, ” Mr. Graham explained. 
“I had in mind a sort of exhibition of bronco bust- 
ing and that kind of thing by the men, now that 
they are all here.” 

“ Ripping — positively ripping!” the other ex- 
claimed. “My word! I should enjoy nawthing 
better.” In the exuberance of his relief Mr. 
Kerns would almost have welcomed a performance 
of untamed lions in the kitchen. 

“Good.” Mr. Graham turned to Bert. “I 
guess you can get up something of the sort, can’t 
you?” 

“Why, I reckon so,” Bert replied in a dazed 


128 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

sort of way. He had not yet recovered from his 
astonishment at the ranch owner’s unwonted 
geniality. “We ’ve got plenty of broncs we can 
round up in the morning. I was thinking of giv- 
ing the wagons a good overhauling to-morrow, 
though. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Oh, never mind that. ’ 9 Mr. Graham positively 
oozed good nature from every pore. “That will 
do next day. Give them a holiday to-morrow; 
they ’ve earned it.” 

The news of the proposed contest aroused great 
interest amongst the men and was the sole topic 
of conversation in the bunk-house long after the 
usual time for retiring. After breakfast next 
morning half a dozen punchers rounded up the 
broncs, picking out ten or a dozen of the worst 
which were turned into the corral. About two 
o’clock everyone trooped out to the bronc pen to 
enjoy the fun. As judges, Mr. Graham and Bert 
took up their places on a couple of barrels placed 
against the fence. The spectators gathered about 
at favorable points, even Mrs. Reilly bringing out 
a chair from the house in which she settled herself 
close to the rails on one side. 

While every cow-puncher in the outfit had en- 
tered, one after another dropped out until the con- 
testants finally dwindled to three — Poley, Homer 
and Curly. They had each ridden three times 


BLACK DEVIL, OUTLAW 129 

without having been thrown. Homer started the 
next round by roping a small sorrel which he 
thought he knew, but he soon found out his mis- 
take. The fifth jump sent him, saddle and all, 
over the horse’s head and he retired ruefully with 
many vows to cinch up tighter another time. 
Poley tried next and managed to hold on for twice 
as long before he, too, was thrown. Then Curly 
mounted and stayed on for six minutes, during 
which period the horse tried every trick in the 
calendar to dislodge him, in vain. Finally Mr. 
Graham held up his hand and Curly leaped to the 
ground and with Baldy’s help pulled off the sad- 
dle. 

“ Curly wins,” the ranch owner said with a 
smile. “And I congratulate him. I have a little 
surprise up my sleeve,” he went on. “Last night 
I determined to offer an additional prize of fifty 
dollars if the man who won the first contest could 
ride Black Devil for five minutes. I understand 
Harden does not consider this a very difficult 
feat.” He smiled again, with a touch of scepti- 
cism not altogether pleasant. 

For an instant no one spoke. Then a low mur- 
mur of surprise arose among the men. Curly’s 
face turned a shade less brown, for a curious 
thought had just flashed into his mind. He knew 
that Mr. Graham disliked him; he had felt that 


130 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


from the moment of their first meeting. There 
had even been times, especially since the mysteri- 
ous shooting, when he wondered whether there 
was not something more than mere dislike in the 
man ’s feeling for him. The possibility was vague, 
with nothing more than instinct to support it, but 
instinct has a way, sometimes, of hitting the mark, 
and Curly wondered now whether this business of 
riding the outlaw horse had not been introduced 
for the sole purpose of bringing about his humilia- 
tion and downfall — or even worse. His eyes nar- 
rowed as he met Mr. Graham’s gaze. 

‘ 4 Well?” questioned the latter. 

Curly still hesitated. 

“Of course you ’re not obliged to.” There was 
a subtle sneer in the man’s voice. “If you ’re 
afraid, I have no doubt there are others who are 
not so timid.” 

The words had precisely the effect which was, 
perhaps, intended. Curly’s chin went up and he 
looked steadily at his employer. 

“I ’m not afraid,” he said quietly. “I ’ll ride 
him if you want — or make a stab at it, anyhow.” 

“Fine!” exclaimed Mr. Graham. “Now we 
shall see some riding. Bert, just take a couple of 
men and bring the horse out. ’ ’ 

Bert complied rather dubiously. It was not an 
easy nor pleasant task, but he managed it some- 


131 


BLACK DEVIL, OUTLAW 

how, and appeared half an hour later with the re- 
luctant outlaw dragged along by three ropes held 
by as many mounted cow-punchers. Whenever 
he made a rush at one of them, the others held him 
back, and by the time they reached the bronc pen, 
he was like a mad thing. Once inside, he was 
thrown and held down while Curly ’s saddle was 
placed on his back. Then the boy came forward 
and, taking the bridle reins, straddled the saddle 
and gave the word to throw off the ropes. 

He had not been boasting when he expressed his 
belief that he could back Black Devil. It was a 
simple fact that he could ride if he could do noth- 
ing else. He had been with horses as long as he 
could remember and had broken hundreds in the 
course of those years with Jerry Harden down in 
Midland County. He seemed, in fact, to have a 
decided talent for that sort of thing, and he found 
a good deal of pleasure in doing the work thor- 
oughly and as humanely as possible. But at this 
particular moment he was far from confident or 
assured. Though he strove to hide his nervous- 
ness and succeeded very well, his heart was thump- 
ing unevenly and it seemed to him as if the breath- 
less pause which followed the freeing of the out- 
law would never end. 

In reality it was very brief. For an instant only 
the splendid creature lay panting, and then 


132 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

scrambled to his feet. As he did so Curly shot his 
toes into the stirrups and hung his spurs into the 
cinch. He had barely done so 'when the horse 
reared straight into the air and deliberately flung 
himself backward. The boy was oft like lightning 
and on again as the animal stood up. Then, with 
a scream of rage, the horse dropped his head and 
began to pitch, and such pitching most of the men 
had never seen before. He pitched straight, he 
i ‘ sunned his sides,” he leaped into the air with a 
whirling motion which turned him half way round. 
He tried a dozen different tricks in almost as many 
seconds, and then suddenly he sprang into the air 
and fell backward again. 

There was a shriek from Dorothy, a groan from 
the eagerly watching men, as the cinch of Curly’s 
saddle parted suddenly while the horse was in 
mid air. Instead of springing free, he fell with it 
and the next instant the heavy bulk of the animal 
crashed downward across his body. 

Scrambling to his feet, the horse dashed toward 
the fence and struck at it viciously with his hoofs. 
Then he wheeled savagely, with red, flaring nos- 
trils, and seemed to be aware for the nrst time of 
the unconscious boy lying tangled in his saddle. 
He stretched his neck out, his ears pricked up, 
and then he began to walk slowly forward. 

“Oh!” Dorothy gave a cry and caught Mr. 


BLACK DEVIL, OUTLAW 133 

Graham’s arm. “ Uncle! Tell them to shoot the 
beast.” 

Mr. Graham hesitated, his face strained and 
white, a curious touch of indecision in his eyes. 
Suddenly the horse gave a scream of rage and, 
baring his teeth, made a vicious downward lunge. 

6 ‘ Homer — shoot him !” the girl cried frantically. 
‘ i Quick, shoot him ! He ’ll kill — ’ ’ 

The words trailed off into nothingness. She 
swayed against Baldy, who stood beside her, and 
before he could catch her, she had crumpled into 
a little heap on the ground. 


CHAPTER XV 


THE FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 

S the girl fell, Homer and Poley both pulled 



JLV their guns and the sharp crack-crack sounded 
simultaneously. For a moment the horse stood 
as if turned to stone. Then slowly — very slowly, 
as his legs gave way — he sank to the ground. He 
made no sound; only his eyes showed dumbly the 
terror he could not understand. There was a 
brief, desperate struggle to regain his feet ; a sud- 
den rush of crimsoned foam. And finally, with a 
long-drawn sigh, the muscles relaxed, the shapely 
head fell back and he lay silent. 

Instantly the corral was plunged into a turmoil 
of noise and movement. Three or four of the 
men, reaching Curly, tossed the saddle aside, and 
lifted him from the ground. Some one was call- 
ing vociferously for water, and above the din Mrs. 
Reilly’s voice could be heard, shrill and instant, 
demanding the same thing. She sat on the ground 
with Dorothy’s head in her lap, and as she cried 
for water her hands were busy mechanically chaf- 
ing the girl’s wrists. Mr. Graham had stepped 


THE FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 135 


down from the barrel and stood hesitating by the 
fence. His hands opened and closed nervously, 
and little beads of perspiration dotted his fore- 
head. Presently, Kawikee appearing with a pail 
of water, Mrs. Reilly dashed some of it in the girPs 
face, and with a gasp and a shiver the latter opened 
her eyes. 

‘ ‘ There, there, me darlint ! ’ 9 soothed Mrs. Reilly. 
“It ’s all right. They shot the brute.” 

Dorothy struggled into a sitting posture and 
mechanically put her hands up to her hair. 

“ Curly V 9 she whispered. “Is he — 99 She 
stopped abruptly, but her eyes questioned fear- 
fully. 

“Stunned a bit, me dear,” the other assured 
her, “but nothing serious. He ’ll soon come 
round.” 

Oddly enough, her words spoken at random to 
quiet the girl, proved to fit the facts exactly. Hap- 
pily for Curly the saddle had fallen on top of him 
and formed such a complete protection from the 
heavy body of the horse that he escaped with only 
a few bruises and a crack on the head which had 
caused him momentary unconsciousness. The del- 
uge from Kawikee ’s bucket brought him around 
almost as soon as it had Dorothy. 

Mrs. Reilly, having assisted the latter to a chair, 
happened to meet the ranch owner ’s glance. For a 


136 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


moment she returned it steadily, her lips pursed 
up. Then she sniffed. 

“ ’Tis not over quick ye are in makin’ up your 
mind, ’ ’ she remarked directly. i i Had they waited 
for your word to shoot, I ’m thinldn’ there ’d be 
little left of the poor bye by this.” 

Mr. Graham flushed and his lips parted impul- 
sively. But apparently he changed his mind, for 
without a word he turned and walked away, leav- 
ing Mr. Kerns, who had been an interested and 
amazed spectator, eying the cook severely through 
his monocle. 

“But I say, me good woman,” he began, adjust- 
ing his glass. ‘ ‘ Such language, you know, to one ’s 
employer — ” 

Mrs. Reilly thrust her chin forward and stood 
with arms akimbo. “Don’t talk to me,” she ad- 
monished heatedly. “I ’m not your good woman. 
I scorn it ! If you was only a man instead of full 
of monkey tricks — Stop that! I ’ll not have it ! ” 

Her last remark referred, evidently, to Mr. 
Kerns’ exasperating trick of eying her through 
his monocle with an air of much superiority and 
condescension. For as she uttered the last words 
— the temptation apparently proving too strong — 
the good lady reached forward suddenly and 
plucked the glass from his eye with such force 
that the ribbon broke. Throwing this scornfully 


THE FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 137 

to the ground, she turned and, helping Dorothy to 
her feet, led the girl toward the kitchen door. 

“ ’Tis me Oirisli temper, darlint, ,, she explained 
in a semi-apologetic tone when they were inside 
the house. ‘ 4 Likely I ’ll get the sack, but I can- 
not abear the monkey tricks of him. And who is 
he to be bringin’ me to task, I ’d like to know?’ 5 

Dorothy laughed a little nervously. “He is aw- 
fully trying, and I don’t blame you a bit,” she 
said. “Don’t worry about being fired, though. 
Uncle would never do that as long as I ’m here. 
When we ’re gone, I suppose you ’d leave any- 
how.” She paused and smoothed back her hair 
absently. “I think I ’ll go and lie down till sup- 
per,” she went on. “It ’s been a — a perfectly 
hateful afternoon.” 

Curly himself felt in much the same way, though 
he would have expressed it differently. As soon 
as he could escape the congratulations of the men 
on his close shave, he went over to examine the 
saddle. Homer joined him, and on turning it over 
they saw that the latigo had parted under the 
strain. 

“I was wondering if we ’d find it cut,” Homer 
remarked after they had made a thorough inspec- 
tion. 

Curly stared at him. “Cut?” he repeated 
slowly. “Who ’d cut it?” 


138 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


“You Ve got me. I haven’t any more idea 
than one of those broncs there. But it sure does 
seem as if you ’d been running into hard luck too 
much lately for it to be all pure accident.” 

The other said nothing just then. Shouldering 
his saddle, he left the corral and carried it over 
to the wagon shed. There he dumped it on the 
ground and, straightening up, glanced at his 
friend. 

“I Ve had that same thought myself, kid,” he 
said quietly, “and it ’s had me working my brain 
overtime.” He leaned back against a wagon 
wheel and, plucking a straw from a crack beneath 
the footboard, began to chew it meditatively. 
“Four separate and distinct tilings — pretty darn 
disagreeable things — have happened inside of a 
few months, and they Ve all happened to me. The 
first two I could lay to Pedro, for you can’t ever 
tell what a greaser ’ll do when he ’s mad. But 
Pedro wasn’t in that shooting, and for the life 
of me I can ’t figure out who was. And then along 
comes this. Now it might have been just a plain 
accident, but — ” 

“And again it mightn’t,” cut in Homer 
abruptly. “Do you know what I think, old top? 
I ’ll bet that stuff Graham got off about the winner 
of the other competitions riding Black Devil was 


THE FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 139 


all rot. 1 ’ll bet if you had n ’t been the winner he 
wouldn’t have opened his head about it.” 

“You mean he wanted me to ride Black Devil,” 
mused Curly. “Well, I thought of that, too. 
I ’ve thought of a whole lot of things since that 
business out in Yega Pasture. But what ’s his 
object? What ’s he got against me, anyhow? 
For the life of me I can’t make sense out of it at 
all.” 

“Me neither, but it ’s sure darned queer. Going 
to fix that saddle to-night?” 

Curly nodded. “Guess I ’d better if there ’s 
time before supper. Bert ’ll probably want to 
start extra early to-morrow to make up for our 
loafing to-day. You rip the end off and I ’ll get 
a piece of leather out of the harness room.” 

Homer set to work on the saddle and his friend 
crossed the wagon shed, passed through the barn 
beyond and stepped into the harness room. He 
had to hunt around for some time before he found 
the sort of leather he wanted in the midst of a pile 
of odds and ends in one corner near the window. 
But having secured this and a shoemaker’s needle 
and stout thread, the two boys made short work 
of the broken latigo, finishing the job about the 
time supper was ready. 

Dorothy was not present at the meal. She had 


140 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

developed a headache and was staying in her 
room. But Mr. Graham sat in liis accustomed 
place and neither of the two boys could see that liis 
manner varied a hairsbreadth from the usual. 
Always reserved, he seemed no more nor less so 
than usual, until, perhaps, at the end of the meal, 
when he paused beside Curly and handed him a 
small roll of bills. 

‘ 4 There ’s your fifty, Harden,” he said curtly- 

The boy stared up at him in surprise. “But 
I didn’t ride him five minutes, did I?” he asked 
doubtfully. 

The ranch owner’s hard glance met his squarely. 
“Pretty close to it,” he answered briefly. “It 
was over four, and then I lost count for a moment 
when your girth broke. I guess you won it, all 
right.” He turned away, and then glanced back 
over his shoulder. ‘ ‘ Feeling all right again 1 ” he 
asked. 

“Sure thing. All I got was a knock on the 
head. Er — thank you.” 

Mr. Graham made no answer. He scarcely 
seemed to wait for the boy’s reply, in fact, before 
the words were uttered he had reached the door 
into the hall. As this closed behind him the two 
friends glanced at one another, then rose and fol- 
lowed the other men toward the bunk-house. 


THE FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 141 


“Pleasant disposition,” commented Homer 
softly. “How he must hate himself.” 

“He certainly is a grouch,” agreed Curly. 
“He didn’t act as if he had anything special on 
his mind, though. Hanged if I know what to 
think about it all ! ” 

“Same here. The only thing I can see is for 
us to keep our eyes and ears open for the rest of 
the time he ’s here. He ’s leaving in a few days, 
so Bert says, and it ’ll be pretty hard for him to 
put across anything in that time if we ’re on the 
watch.” 

Curly’s brow was puckered with annoyance. 
“It isn’t that that bothers me,” he said. “If a 
thing ’s open and abov6 board you know where 
you stand and can plan accordingly. It ’s this 
everlasting mystery and guesswork and beating 
around the bush that gets me. If I was sure Gra- 
ham had it in for me, I could easy enough cut out 
and get a job somewhere else — though I ’d sure 
hate to think of never seeing Jack again. She ’s 
one peach of a good fellow. Well, let ’s forget it 
for to-night, anyhow.” 

But fate was not destined to bring him forget- 
fulness, either that night or for many a long day 
afterward. After an evening of lazy lounging be- 
fore the fire, the majority of the men started to 


142 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


turn in about half past ten. Homer and Curly 
lingered a little longer to finish a discussion be- 
fore following their example, and it was at the 
moment of pulling off his shirt that the latter 
made an unpleasant discovery. 

‘ 4 Thunder !” he exclaimed, feeling in the breast 
pocket. “I ’ve gone and lost my roll.” 

“Your roll? Gee! You don’t mean that fifty 
the boss gave you?” 

“No, that ’s here all right. But I had three 
fives left over from last pay day, and they ’re 
gone. ’ ’ 

“Maybe they got jolted out in the bronc pen 
this afternoon,” Homer suggested. “You were 
a nut not to put ’em — ” 

“I did,” interrupted Curly. “I had the bills 
in my hip pocket till after that was all over. I 
did n ’t put them back in my shirt till — let ’s see. 
Why, it was while we were talking in the wagon 
shed. ’ ’ He paused a moment thoughtfully. “I ’ll 
bet I dropped ’em in the harness room, ’ ’ he went 
on, brightening up. “I had the dickens of a time 
fishing out a strap from that pile of junk.” 

Homer yawned. “Better chase over and look 
now,” he grinned. “Otherwise some unscrupu- 
lous guy like Baldy here might get there first and 
make love to ’em. ’ ’ 

He ducked to escape a swift pass from the other 


THE FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT 143 


cow-puncher, and Curly, picking up his hat, opened 
the door and started across the open space to the 
wagon sheds. 

It was a glorious night, crisp and cold. The 
ranch house was dark and silent, but the moon, 
hanging in a cloudless sky, flooded the buildings 
with a soft, silvery radiance that was almost as 
light as day. Curly went through the wagon shed, 
crossed the barn and stepped into the harness 
room. Here it was very dark save where the 
single window was faintly outlined by the reflected 
light. But he felt his way forward to the corner 
and was just about to strike a match when he 
stopped abruptly and held his hand. 

“. . . no use . . . hunted ... a week there / 9 
The words, broken and unintelligible, came 
faintly to his ears through the broken glass. Who 
in the world could be in that out-of-the-way spot 
at such a time f he wondered ; and instinctively he 
bent forward to listen. 

“I tell you they must be found !” 

This time the words were clear and distinct, 
and set every nerve in his body to tingling. For 
the voice was unmistakably that of Paul Graham, 
and it was equally evident that he spoke in a cold 
fury. Curly dropped his outstretched arm and 
stole cautiously toward the window. 


144 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


“We ripped the hull inside of the place to 
pieces, an’ it ain’t — What ’s that ?” 

For a moment there was silence so utter that 
Curly could hear his own heart beating loudly and 
irregularly. Then came a faint movement and, 
craning his neck, he peered through the broken 
pane of glass. 

Outside a strip of shadow lay along the side of 
the building, densely black against the silvery 
patch of light beyond. At first Curly could make 
out nothing. Then someone moved below him, 
and the next instant he was gazing at a man’s 
face which had suddenly appeared in the moon- 
light. It was a totally strange face, long and nar- 
row, with keen black eyes and a scraggle of black 
hair showing under the brim of his flat-topped 
sombrero. There was a curious twist to his nose 
as if it had once been broken and set unskillfully, 
and as the man straightened up Curly realized with 
a clutch at his heart that he must stand at least 
six feet two or three in his heavy cowhide boots. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE MYSTEKY DEEPENS 

C URLY had scarcely had a good look at him be- 
fore the man stepped back into the shadow. 
“I don’t see nothin ’, ’ ’ he said in a hoarse 
whisper. 

“Of course you don’t,” retorted Mr. Graham 
impatiently. “There ’s nothing to see. Every 
one ’s in bed and asleep by this time. It ’s the 
frost cracking, or a rat. ” There was a pause, and 
then he went on: “I ’d be willing to bet my last 
cent that Jerry didn’t destroy those letters. He 
was smart enough to realize how much they ’d be 
worth to me. They must be there some place and 
you ’ve got to find them and find them quick.” 

“Do yuh s’pose the kid knows about ’em?” the 
other asked. 

“Certainly not. Would he keep quiet five min- 
utes if he did? That ’s what I hn afraid of. If 
he isn’t driven off the ranch soon something is 
likely to turn up any time to put him wise. ” 

“Want anythin’ more done — ” The man hesi- 
tated. 


145 


146 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

“I do not !” snarled Graham. “You ’ve already- 
done a great deal more than I told you, and be- 
tween you and Pedro you ’ve made a mess of the 
whole thing. That shooting, now — I never wanted 
him — But enough of that. Bring me those 
papers if you have to tear down every sod of the 
house to find them. Let the other matter alone.’ ’ 

“All right; you Ye the boss,” returned the tall 
man rather sulkily. “I ’ll hike back to Midland 
an’ if the things is in that there shack I ’ll find 
’em. Reckon that ’s about all, ain’t it?” 

“Yes, that ’s all.” They were moving slowly 
away from the window. “Be careful how you go. 
I shall be leaving here day after tomorrow, 
but — ” As they turned the corner of the barn the 
words died away and silence fell. 

For a few minutes Curly crouched motionless 
against the window sill. He was hoping against 
hope that he might hear more, but presently, as 
the stillness remained unbroken, he relaxed his 
cramped limbs and stood up. 

“Well, what do you know about that!” he 
breathed. 

His mind was in a curious turmoil of satisfac- 
tion and bewilderment. There seemed no ques- 
tion now that Paul Graham was back of that series 
of unpleasant “accidents” which had occurred 
during the past few months. But though this was 


THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 147 

so much gained, Curly was as far as ever from 
solving that perplexing problem of a motive. 

That there had once been some sort of connec- 
tion between the ranch owner and Jerry Harden 
seemed almost beyond a doubt, but of its nature the 
boy had gained no inkling. At least it was plain 
that his old companion had concealed letters or 
papers of some sort which Mr. Graham was mov- 
ing heaven and earth to obtain. Curly wondered 
whether the mysterious attacks on himself could 
have been inspired by the belief that he knew any- 
thing of their hiding-place. It seemed hardly pos- 
sible, but he could think of no other reason. And 
where in the world could Jerry have hidden 
papers? Not in the cabin, surely, for the boy 
knew every inch of it. The only possible place 
was the hole in the ’dobe wall covered with a sod 
where the man had sometimes kept his money, but 
there had been no papers there. 

With a sigh Curly cautiously lit a match and 
bent over the pile of rubbish in the corner. The 
little wad of bills was in plain sight, but he thrust 
it into his pocket with a feeling, almost, of indif- 
ference, and started back through the barn and 
wagon shed. He moved carefully, but reached 
the open without hearing or seeing anything 
suspicious, and a half a minute later he noiselessly 
opened the bunk-house door and stepped inside. 


148 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

44 That you, kid?” came in a sleepy voice from 
Homer’s bunk. 4 4 What the deuce you been do- 
ing?” 

Curly did not answer at once, but picking his 
way across the room he dropped down softly on 
the floor beside his friend. 

4 4 Anybody else awake?” he whispered. 

There must have been a touch of suppressed 
excitement in his voice, for sleep instantly forsook 
Homer, and he raised himself suddenly on one 
elbow. 

4 4 No; what ’s up?” he asked eagerly. 

Curly leaned closer until his lips almost touched 
the other’s ear. 44 I saw Graham just now back of 
the harness room,” he breathed. 4 4 He ’s the one, 
kid, who ’s been making all this trouble for me.” 

The breath whistled through Homer’s teeth. 

4 4 W ough ! Are you sure ? ” he demanded. 

4 4 Certain. He wanted to drive me off the ranch ; 
I heard him say so. That isn’t all, either. He 
was talking to a strange guy about some papers of 
his that Jerry Harden had, and they can ’t find. ” 

4 4 Are you plumb locoed?” Homer interrupted 
sharply. 44 What the dickens has old man Graham 
to do with Jerry Harden?” 

44 I don’t know any more than you do,” Curly 
answered; 4 4 but it ’s a sure thing that Jerry had 
some papers and hid them. They must be mighty 


THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 149 

important, too, for the old man was pretty near 
crazy at not being able to find ’em.” 

In brief, rapid sentences lie related the conversa- 
tion he had ov -heard. Homer listened eagerly. 

“If that don’t beat everything ! ’ ’ he said when 
Curly paused. “The fellow with the busted nose 
must be the one who shot you. But where do we 
come in on this deal?” 

“We don’t, exactly, but I had some thoughts 
of butting into the game myself. I ’ve sort of an 
idea I ’d like to see just what those papers are. 
Maybe they ’d give me a notion of what ’s at the 
bottom of Graham’s underhanded work. I don’t 
see anything to p revent getting my time from Bert 
to-morrow and letting it appear that I was going 
to try for a jot) with the Matadores, or some out- 
fit over that way. Once off the Circle Bar land 
I can turn south and head for Midland, and maybe 
beat this crooked-nose chap to it.” 

“Do you know where the papers are hid?” 
Homer inquired briefly. 

“No, I don’t - but — Great Scott!” 

He broke off abruptly, for at that moment, by 
some strange freak of memory, a picture had 
flashed into his mind out of the vanished past as 
clear, distinct and definite as though the events 
had happened a week before. He saw the sandy 
draw leading up from the cabin to the level plains, 


150 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

shimmering in the heat of the July sun. Along 
the northern side the rocky walls were smooth and 
unbroken save at one point three hundred yards 
from the cabin, where a great pillar-like mass 
jutted out into the sand. On the shady side of 
this buttress he was playing — he could not have 
been more than six years old — playing contentedly 
enough with some sticks and bits of stone, until, 
happening to look up, he saw Jerry coming up 
the draw carrying a spade. Instantly he fled to 
a nearby thicket of mesquite and creeping into it 
dropped flat on the ground and lay there still as 
a mouse, eyes fixed on the approaching man. 

Jerry came straight to the buttress and, with 
a cautious look around, turned the corner and be- 
gan to dig close to the rock. In ten minutes he 
had opened a hole some three feet deep. Where- 
upon he took a tin tobacco box out of his pocket, 
dropped it into the hole and began at once to shovel 
the sand back over it. Having smoothed over the 
surface, he went back to the cabin, leaving the boy 
curious to know what was in the box, but entirely 
too afraid of Jerry to ever run the risk of finding 
out. For years the incident had been forgotten, 
and it was no wonder the boy gave a surprised 
exclamation when it popped suddenly into his 
mind. 


THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 151 

“Well?” Homer questioned impatiently. 
“What ’s the matter now?” 

“I ’ve thought of it,” Curly whispered eagerly. 
“I think I know where they are. Gee! I wish 
it was morning.” 

“Well, it is,” retorted Homer with some sharp- 
ness. “And we ’ll get just about three hours’ 
sleep if we don’t quit this jawing and cut things 
short. Listen here. You ’ve planned this thing 
mighty slick, but where do I come in?” 

“You? Why, I — I did n’t suppose you ’d want 
to give up a good job here just to go off on a sort 
of wild goose chase that might not amount to any- 
thing in the end.” 

Homer sniffed. “Job be hanged! I can get 
another when I want one. You ’re a nice sort of 
a pal with a thing like this coming off, and not 
* counting me in on it. Of course if you don ’t want 
me to go along, that ’s another matter. Just say 
so, and — ” 

‘ 4 Want you ! ’ ’ interrupted Curly joyfully. * ‘ Of 
course I do. It would be simply great for us to 
go down there together. I only thought — ” 

“Don’t,” yawned Homer. “It ’s bad for the 
brain. We ’ll call it settled, then. We ’ll both 
get our time to-morrow and start for the Mata- 
dores. We can think up some sort of an excuse 


152 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


by breakfast lime. I ’m about dead with sleep 
now. ’ ’ 

He turned over and pulled the blankets about 
his shoulders. Curly hastened to slip out of his 
clothes and crawl into bed, and ten minutes later 
he was dead to the world. 


CHAPTER XVII 


HEADING SOUTH 

F RAMING an excuse for leaving the outfit so 
abruptly was not as difficult as it might seem 
to the uninitiated. The typical cow-puncher is 
a notoriously roving creature, subject to sudden 
whims and freaks of fancy. He may stay con- 
tentedly on a ranch for months and then over night 
decide to pull up stakes and move on. 

So when the two boys approached Bert after 
breakfast next morning with the news of their im- 
minent departure, pleading only that they wanted 
a change of scene, he grumbled ferociously, and 
made a perfunctory attempt to argue them into 
staying. But all the while he was scrabbling 
amongst the litter of his desk for a check-book, 
as if he realized the futility of words. 

“You Ye plumb daffy, both of you,” he grunted 
as he filled out one check after another and handed 
them over. “Just when you Ye getting settled 
down here and being of some use, too! But I 
s'pose it ain't a mite of use arguing. You 'll have 
153 


154 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


your way no matter what I say. Well, good luck 
to you, an’ if you ever want to come back here I 
reckon I can squeeze you in somewhere.’ ’ 

He shook hands with a hurried sort of hearti- 
ness, and they left him. Breaking the news to 
Dorothy proved a different matter. She was so 
distressed that they were obliged to take her more 
or less into their confidence. 

“We ’re not really hiking off for good, Jack,” 
Homer explained, as they stood outside the ranch 
house. “We have n’t told a soul but you, because 
there are reasons for keeping it dark; but Curly 
wants to go down to that place in Midland County 
to — er — find out some things about the man he 
used to live with. After we ’ve made the trip 
we ’ll probably head for the Circle Bar again, and 
Bert ’s just said he ’ll take us on whenever we 
show up.” 

“Oh!” The girl’s face brightened. “That 
is n ’t so bad, is it ? I thought you were going away 
and I ’d never see you again. You ’ll be back, 
then, when we come down in June?” 

“Sure thing. But you won’t say anything 
about this, will you — not even to your uncle?” 

“Not a word,” Dorothy declared. “I ’ll keep 
it quite to myself. Are you going to start this 
morning? ’ ’ 

“Right away. We ’re all packed up now. 


HEADING SOUTH 155 

Why don ’t you let us saddle up Rags and go along 
a ways with us?” 

She welcomed the idea with enthusiasm and 
half an hour later the three rode away from the 
ranch house, heading in a westerly direction. The 
two boys had packed their belongings into their 
beds and strapped these on a pack horse which 
belonged to Homer. Curly rode Red Bird, who 
was fresh and frisky after his long rest. 

For nearly an hour they rode steadily west- 
ward, chatting, joking and laying plans for their 
next meeting. Dorothy gave them her Chicago 
address and each one promised to write at the 
earliest opportunity. But at length they came to 
the boundary of the Circle Bar and the girl pulled 
up with a sigh. 

“I ’ll have to go back now,” she said briefly. 

‘ 6 Good-by.” She gave them each a firm hand- 
clasp. ‘ ‘You won’t forget, will you?” 

‘ ‘ To write ? ’ ’ asked Curly. 

“To write, but most of all to — come back.” 
Her eyes were wistful. 1 1 1 have n ’t many friends, 
and I couldn’t bear to lose — ” 

She broke off abruptly and wheeled her horse. 
There was another good-by, flung back rather 
shakily over one shoulder as she galloped off. 
A hundred yards or so away she paused and flung 
up one arm in a quick boyish gesture of farewell. 


156 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


Then she dipped down into a hollow and disap- 
peared. 

Curly sighed a little and swung down from his 
horse. ‘ ‘ She ’s an awful good kid, ’ ’ he remarked, 
pulling out his pliers to let down the wire. “I 
hate to think of her being with that beast of an 
uncle of hers.” 

4 i Don’t worry,” assured Homer. “He may be 
the limit in other ways, but he thinks the world of 
her. You could tell that the night of the shooting 
in Yega Pasture.” 

He passed through the gap in the fence, and 
when Curly had restored the wire and joined him 
they rode forward together. 

“What was it you thought of last night — about 
the papers, I mean?” Homer asked directly. 
“Let ’s have the whole story again from the be- 
ginning. I was so sleepy I should n’t wonder if I 
missed some of it.” 

Curly at once plunged into a detailed narration 
of his last night’s experience, and ended by telling 
of the remembrance which had come to him of 
Jerry Harden and the buried tin box. Homer 
listened to it all with constantly increasing inter- 
est. 

“That ’s sure going some!” he remarked when 
Curly had finished. “I should n’t wonder a bit if 
those papers were in tfie box. Would n’t we have 


i 


HEADING SOUTH 


157 


old Graham on a string if we could get hold of 
them. What do you s’pose they ’re all about!” 

‘ ‘ Give it up — unless the old man was in the cat- 
tle-stealing business with Jerry, and the papers 
give him away.” 

Homer turned the idea over in his mind for a 
few minutes in silence. “Seems like you ’d have 
known something about it if he had been — living 
with Jerry the way you did,” he said at length. 

“It might have been before I — ” 

Curly stopped suddenly and looked at Homer. 

“Well — what!” the latter asked curiously. 
“Before you — what!” 

“Why, before — before I came to live with 
Jerry,” Curly finished absently. A bewildering 
idea had flashed suddenly into his mind. 

“Ah ! And when did you first come to live with 
Jerry!” Homer asked eagerly. “Where ’d you 
live before! Who was Jerry, anyhow!” 

The questions fairly tumbled over each other 
in his haste to get them out. Curly gave him an 
odd look. 

“I always lived with him — that is, ever since I 
can remember,” he answered slowly. “I never 
knew anybody else. I always thought Jerry was 
my uncle. ’ ’ 

“Thought! Didn’t you know? Didn’t you 
ever ask him?” 


158 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

i i Oh, yes. I used to ask him, but he got so mad 
I pretty soon gave it up. He told me my people 
lived in New Orleans, and when they died he took 
me. That ’s all he ever said about it.” 

‘ ‘Do you know what I think?” Homer’s voice 
was tense; unconsciously he had pulled in his 
horse. i ‘ I ’ll bet you Graham knows a heap sight 
more about you than you do yourself. I ’ll bet 
those papers have got something about you in 
them. Furthermore, I don’t believe you ’re any 
more kin to Jerry Harden than I am.” 

For a moment the two friends sat looking at 
one another in silence. The flush which had 
stained Curly’s face slowly ebbed away; his eyes 
were bright with eagerness. One hand clenched 
tightly over the bridle. 

“I was thinking something of that sort myself, ’ ’ 
he said at length in a low tone. ‘ ‘ That would ac- 
count for the interest he took in me.” His lips 
curved in a grim smile. 

“It sure would!” Homer spoke briskly. 
“Say! I wonder if he could be your father?” 

Curly’s eyes narrowed. “Good Lord! I hope 
not. Think of having a man like that for a father ! 
I ’d a great sight rather not have any. ’ ’ 

“WellJ the thing for us to do is to locate those 
papers, and then we ’ll know something. And 
this is n ’t getting ahead very fast. ’ ’ 


HEADING SOUTH 


159 


As he spoke, Homer let out his reins and they 
started on at a lope. They were several miles 
from the ranch house now, and in another ten 
minutes they made a wide circuit around a jutting 
mass of rock, and dipped into a narrow draw. 
When they emerged at the other end, they were 
headed in the right direction, and the journey 
south had begun. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE TIN BOX 

T HE week which followed was pleasant but un- 
eventful. The boys travelled comfortably 
without any effort for speed, for they had decided 
that it would be better policy to allow Graham’s 
henchman to arrive ahead of them and commence 
his operations on the hut rather than run any risk 
of catching them in the act of searching for the tin 
box. They did not fail, however, to make guarded 
inquiries at ranch houses and line camps where 
they halted for the night, for traces of the man 
with the broken nose. But this individual must 
either have taken a very roundabout route or else 
been wonderfully skillful in keeping out of sight, 
for they had come within thirty miles of Jerry 
Harden’s ranch before they gleamed any informa- 
tion whatever about him. 

They had stopped late one afternoon at a small 
outfit whose owner had once worked with Homer 
on the Turkey Tracks, and while they were eat- 
ing supper the latter took advantage of a pause 
to put his careless inquiry. 

160 


THE TIN BOX 


161 


“Say, Ed,” he drawled, “what was the name of 
that fellow who worked about a week with the 
Turkey Tracks while we were there — the one with 
the crooked nose, I mean?” 

The other looked at him blankly. “Crooked 
nose?” he repeated with a puzzled wrinkling of 
his forehead. “I don’t remember anybody with 
a crooked nose.” 

“Well, his nose must have got broke once and 
set crooked,” Homer explained casually, “He 
was a tall guy, with a thin, hatchet face and black 
hair. You must remember him.” 

“O-h!” Ed gave a sigh of relief and picked 
up his knife again. “You mean Shifty Harris. 
He did n ’t work on no ranch, though. ’ 9 

“He didn’t?” Homer’s look of surprise was 
perfect. 

“Nix; another guess cornin’,” retorted Ed 
through a mouthful of potato. “He ’s got a shack 
up in the hills about sixty miles northwest of here. 
I never knew him to work with any outfit. I 
reckon the least said about him the better. ’ ’ 

Homer raised his eyebrows. “That so?” he 
asked curiously. “Why?” 

“Oh, there ’s all sorts of stories floating around 
about him. Of course you can’t believe half you 
hear, but they say he used to run with Dandy Jim’s 
gang years ago. ’ ’ 


162 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


“ Guess that was before my time,” Homer re- 
marked, ‘ ‘ though I remember the name. ’ ’ 

“It sure was.” Ed tilted back his chair and 
gazed retrospectively at his plate. “Must have 
been fifteen years ago, anyway, when they broke 
up. I was only a kid, but I remember well how 
they used to run things pretty much to suit them- 
selves. There was about a dozen of ’em, and the 
leader went by the name of Dandy Jim ’cause he 
was always such a swell dresser. Funny thing, 
though, nobody that I know ever got a good look 
at him. He always had his hat pulled down, you 
know, and some say he wore a mask. Their head- 
quarters was in the hills over near the borderline 
— nobody knew just where. They ’d steal cattle, 
hold up the stages, an’ do any old thing they liked 
an’ get away with the goods.” 

“Gee! Folks around here must have been a 
fine lot of dubs, ’ ’ put in Homer scornfully. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ed protested. “There 
wasn’t many of ’em in those days, an’ the gang 
had ’em pretty well scared. They were all dandy 
shots, and did n ’t care much more about killing 
a man than I would popping a steer for beef.” 

“Humph!” Homer looked unconvinced. 
“Then he left the country, you say?” 

“That ’s the way the story runs. Must have 
been about fifteen or sixteen years ago when he 


THE TIN BOX 


163 


just disappeared, and nobody ’s seen or heard of 
him since. The gang broke up after a while — 
couldn’t pick a leader, I reckon. Shifty Harris 
built a shack over in the hills, an’ he ’s been there 
ever since. Jerry Harden was another one, they 
say. He got his last fall.” 

Homer nodded. “I heard about that,” he said 
briefly. 

The talk drifted to something else and presently 
they turned in. Next morning, after bidding fare- 
well to their host, the two boys started leisurely 
toward the F. M. Ranch, which had been their al- 
leged destination, and having covered about half 
the distance they turned off to the east in the di- 
rection of Curly’s old home. 

“Well, we learned something,” Homer re- 
marked. 

“It ’s funny that this Shifty should have been 
so thick with Jerry, and I never saw him,” Curly 
said with a puzzled frown. 

“Maybe they weren’t so thick when you were 
there, ’ 9 Homer suggested. ‘ 1 They might have had 
a scrap before the gang broke up. What I ’d like 
to know is where old Graham comes in.” 

“I don’t suppose he could have been this Dandy 
Jim?” 

Homer burst into a shout of laughter. “Him? 
Dandy Jim!” he snorted. “Does he look it? 


164 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


Why, Dandy Jim was tall and slim, with coal-black 
hair, and rode like a demon. Do you recollect old 
Graham on a horse ? He ’s got a shape like a bar- 
rel.” 

4 ‘ Say ! ’ ’ Curly put in indignantly. ‘ ‘ Where the 
deuce did you get all those particulars ? You were 
about two years old and five hundred miles away 
when he left the country. ’ ’ 

“Oh, I heard all about him from the F. M, 
boys, * ’ the other returned airily. ‘ 4 Everybody re- 
members him. ,, 

“Shucks! I don’t believe it. You ’ve got too 
much imagination, kid. Besides, a man ’ll change 
a lot in fifteen years.” 

“I s’pose he will,” Homer conceded. “Of 
course, that would account for his knowing Jerry, 
but how about all the interest he took in you ? ’ ’ 

Curly shook his head. “You ’ve got me. We 
want to find that box, and maybe we ’ll be put wise 
to a lot. Now, what are we going to do if we find 
Shifty here ahead of us?” 

“Why, I suppose we ’ll have to wait till he goes 
away, or perhaps we can do our digging at night 
when he ’s asleep.” 

“That would be better, I think,” Curly said de- 
cidedly. 6 4 There ’s no telling how long he ’ll stay 
there, especially when he doesn’t find anything.” 

Homer quite agreed with him, and they decided 


THE TIN BOX 


165 


to first reconnoitre carefully and see just how mat- 
ters stood. Though they had made an early start, 
it was nearly two o’clock before they reached a 
small draw about a mile from the canyon, where 
they had planned to leave their horses. Having 
made a hurried meal of bread and dried beef, they 
fastened the horses securely to some scrub oaks 
and proceeded on foot. 

In twenty minutes they came to the mouth of 
the canyon and, going into it a little way, they 
dropped down beside some scattered boulders close 
to the southern side to hold a consultation. It 
was quite impossible to see the cabin from where 
they lay. It was at least a quarter of a mile away, 
and hidden behind an abrupt curve which started 
at about the point where the rocky buttress pro- 
jected from the southern rim. The question was 
should they crawl forward to the turn, trusting 
to the protection of the rocks and bushes, or make 
their way around on the surface and so get a view 
of the cabin from above. After a survey of the 
ground they decided on the former method. They 
would be less likely to be seen by any one passing 
on the open prairie, and there was really little 
danger of being surprised by Harris, who would 
scarcely be leaving the canyon at that hour of the 
day. 

Their progress was slow and tedious. Keep- 


166 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


in g as they did close to the southern wall, they had 
to crawl around and over many boulders which 
had fallen from above, and lay in scattered con- 
fusion along the bottom, while several times long 
detours were necessary to avoid rifts and gullies. 
But in little less than an hour they reached the 
bend and, lying flat on the sand, peered cautiously 
around the buttress. 

From where they lay there was a very good 
view of the cabin three hundred yards away, and it 
was at once apparent that the work of destruction 
had begun, and was even then being conducted 
with much thoroughness. The roof was quite 
gone and part of one side wall. Through the open 
door they could see a man working vigorously with 
a pick or bar dislodging the blocks, breaking them 
up and finally throwing the pieces over the wall, 
where a rapidly growing pile testified to his in- 
dustry. Evidently Shifty Harris was following 
Mr. Graham’s instructions to the letter. 

“Gee!” Homer whispered, as they drew back 
behind the buttress. “He ’ll be a week finishing 
that job.” 

“Yes, and then he ’ll dig up the floor and most 
likely tear down the sheds. We ’ll have a nice 
wait if we don’t get busy till he ’s gone.” 

“We sure will!” Homer took another look 
around the rock. “I don’t see why we should n’t 


THE TIN BOX 


167 


start in right away,” lie went on, drawing back his 
head. “He ’s safe for another three hours, and 
it won’t take us that long to do the trick. This 
is the right place, is n’t it?” 

Curly looked the ground over carefully and at 
length picked out a spot well back in the corner. 
“Over there, I think, close to the rock,” he said. 
“I believe we could take a chance *now. We ’ll 
have to use our knives, I guess.” 

“They ’re all we ’ve got.” 

Homer felt around in his pockets and presently 
pulled out a clasp-knife, the single blade of which 
was about five inches long and when open was 
held by a catch. Curly had a regulation hunting- 
knife in a sheath, and together they set to work 
loosening the sand. It was rather slow work, for 
the surface was hard and unyielding, and mixed 
with stones and bits of rock fallen from above. 
Consequently it took over an hour to scoop out a 
hole three feet in diameter and as many deep, 
without finding any trace of the mysterious box. 

* ‘ Gee ! That ’s back-breaking, ’ ’ grunted Homer, 
straightening up and wiping his forehead with one 
sleeve. “I ’m glad I ’m not a farmer. Say, kid, 
are you sure you did n ’t dream about this box ? ’ ’ 

Curly grinned sympathetically. “I certainly 
didn’t dream it,” he said, “but I couldn’t swear 
it was still here. It ’s quite a while ago, and he 


168 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


might have dug it up without my knowing it. 
Still, that doesn’t seem very likely. If he had, 
that other crowd — Say! I struck something 
then.” 

He had been idly prodding about with his knife 
at the bottom of the hole close to one edge, and as 
he spoke the point struck something beneath the 
surface. Instantly they both commenced to dig 
furiously and for a few moments the dirt flew. 
Then Curly bent forward eagerly and snatched out 
of the hole a small rectangular object about six 
inches long and three square, rusty, corroded, thick 
with dirt and wrapped around and around with 
a stout piece of rawhide. 

“ There!” he exclaimed triumphantly, holding 
it up. “What do you think of your uncle now?” 

“Bully for you, kid!” Homer said approvingly. 
“That ’s the goods, all right. Open her up and 
see if — ” 

He stopped abruptly with a swift, hissing in- 
take. His eyes, wide with surprise, were fixed 
aghast on something behind Curly. At the same 
instant a quiet, drawling voice broke the silence. 

“Will yuh gentlemen kindly elevate your hands? 
I got you both covered. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE CUP AND THE LIP 

H OMER’S hands went up instantly, but Curly, 
stunned by surprise, hesitated an instant. 
“Put your hands up, yuh fool!” grated the 
voice, and this time there was something in it 
which sent a shiver along the boy’s spine and 
brought swift obedience. 

For a moment there was silence. Then he heard 
a rustle behind him and felt the tin box plucked 
roughly from his fingers. 

“It ’s mighty nice o’ yuh boys takin’ all this 
trouble for me,” the voice went on mockingly. 
“You ’ve sure saved me a pile o’ work. I reckon 
you must ’a’ had inside information.” 

Neither of the boys made any comment; words 
seemed superfluous. 

“I ’m afraid I ’ll have to trouble yuh a little 
more,” continued the man with evident relish. 
“I sorter hanker after them guns I see in your 
scabbards. Will yuh be so kind as to slip ’em out 
an’ lay ’em on the ground? I ’d be kinda care- 
ful, if I was you. My own six-shooters is old an’ 

169 


170 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


well greased, an’ they got a habit of goin’ off 
mighty suddenlike. ’ ’ 

Without a word Curly and Homer drew out their 
Colts and laid them on the ground. 

‘ 4 Thank you kindly,” the stranger said when 
this was done. 4 * There ’s jest one thing more be- 
fore I go. I ain’t a very sociable guy, an’ I like 
to travel alone. O’ course, I don’t mean to insinu- 
ate you ’d force your comp’ny on me, but I don’t 
want to be havin’ to think about it. You, there, 
with your back to me, jest lay down on your face 
an’ cross your wrists behind. Good! Now, yuh 
other one — I ain’t acquainted with your name — 
kindly tie his wrists good an’ proper with that 
elegant handkerchief I see around his neck. ’ ’ 

Homer ground his teeth and looked despairingly 
around. Then, with a savage glance at the man 
who stood there, a mocking smile on his face and 
a very efficient looking Colt in each hand, he did 
as he was told. 

“ Thanks. Now his feet, please, with your own. 
Seems too bad to use such han’some articles for 
that purpose, but I don’t know of anythin’ else 
so handy. Little tighter. They ain’t bein’ put 
on for ornament, yuh know. That ’s better. 
Now, my scowlin’ friend, I must ask yuh to lay 
yourself down same as him. I don’t want to show 


THE CUP AND THE LIP 171 

no favoritism. Yon don’t want to? No, I s’pose 
not — but yuh got to ! ’ ’ 

A steely glitter came into the jeering eyes for a 
moment, and Homer flopped down on the sand al- 
most foaming with helpless rage and humiliation. 
An instant later he felt a piece of rawhide on his 
wrists. It was twisted dexterously a couple of 
times and then tied with a force which brought 
tears into his eyes. His ankles were similarly 
treated, and then his captor stood up. 

“Well, by-by,” he remarked, as he picked up 
their guns. “Sorry to leave yuh, but time is fleet- 
ing. Yuh c’n yell all yuh like after I ’m gone, but 
don’t begin too soon, ’cause if I should happen to 
hear yuh, I ’ll come back an’ make food for buz- 
zards out o’ you both as sure as shootin’.” 

They heard his feet crunch the sand; then he 
stubbed his toe against a rock and swore softly. 
Finally silence fell. Silence, that is, for about 
three minutes when Homer, unable longer to con- 
tain himself, rolled around on one side and 
loosened a flood of invective, vivid, picturesque, 
but not wholly printable. Curly, struggling into 
a sitting posture, listened to his remarks with an 
appreciative interest. Occasionally he supplied a 
word when Homer was at a loss — which was not 
often — and he seemed to be in perfect harmony 


172 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

with his friend’s state of mind. At length the 
latter paused for breath. 

“Well, kid, yon ’ve sure got the gift of ex- 
pressin’ yourself,” Curly drawled. “It ’s kind 
of saved me a lot of trouble. I was just about 
bursting before you began, but now I feel pretty 
well eased up.” 

“I don’t see anything funny about it,” snapped 
Homer angrily, straining at the rawhide on his 
wrists. “If I could only get the drop on that 
skunk, I ’d settle his hash.” 

“Sure thing,” agreed Curly. “But that don’t 
help us a whole lot. Besides, you ought to be 
throwing a few bouquets our way. If there ever 
was a couple of greenhorns so blame foolish as 
to work here without keeping watch, I never heard 
of ’em.” 

“Don’t you suppose I know that? It ’s what 
makes me madder than anything else.” Homer 
twisted about in a futile effort to release his arms. 
“And this darn rawhide is so tight it ’s something 
fierce.” 

“Roll over here and see if I can’t get hold of 
it with my teeth, ’ ’ Curly suggested. 

“I reckon I ’d better loosen you up first,” said 
Homer. “It ’ll be easier to untie that handker- 
chief, especially since I didn’t pull it any tighter 
than I could help.” 


THE CUP AND THE LIP 


173 


This proved to he the case, for in less than ten 
minutes he succeeded in loosening the knot with 
his teeth. Curly at once freed his own feet and, 
picking up his knife, hastily slit the bonds which 
bound his companion. The latter sprang up, 
swung his arms vigorously a few times to restore 
the circulation, and stepped forward to join Curly, 
who was already making a keen survey of the can- 
yon. 

“He ’s left by the upper way,” the latter ob- 
served, as he took in every corner in sight. “His 
horse is gone from the corral. I reckon we ’d 
better make tracks back to the draw and get 
ours.” 

“That ’s what,” agreed Homer. “And then 
we ’ll scrape up some shooting irons. I never 
thought,” he burst out, as if the memory of it still 
rankled, “that I ’d be buncoed out of my six- 
gun by a squint-eyed, twisted-nose, son-of-a-gun 
like that. I ’d like to kick myself from here to 
New Orleans.” 

“It was Shifty, then?” Curly asked as they hur- 
ried along. “You know, I did n ’t see him. ’ ’ 

“It sure was ! And if I ever meet up with him 
again, he ’ll be shiftier yet.” 

“Well, why shouldn’t we?” Curly’s eyes 
hardened and his chin squared. “As soon as we 
get our horses and a couple of six-shooters we can 


174 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

light out after him, and I reckon we ’ll catch up 
with him some place.” 

Homer looked dubious. “I sure hope we do, 
but he ’ll have the deuce of a long start. ’ ’ 

“Of course; but don’t you believe he ’ll make 
for that shack of his in the hills! It isn’t likely 
he ’ll make straight for the Circle Bar without 
stopping there, especially when it ’s right on his 
way. ’ ’ 

“That ’s right; of course he will!” Homer ex- 
claimed enthusiastically. 1 i Having got the papers 
so quick, he is n’t likely to break his neck getting 
’em back to Graham.” 

They found the horses in good shape and, 
mounting hurriedly, started at a gallop toward 
Ed Winton’s place, where they hoped to be able 
to borrow something or other in the way of 
weapons. Just how to account for the loss of their 
own puzzled them not a little and formed the main 
subject of conversation during the three-hour ride. 
They had not, in fact, come to any definite de- 
cision when they rode up to the ranch house toward 
dusk, but fortunately this did not prove necessary. 
They found Ed much flustered by a court summons 
he had just received in connection with a damage 
suit, on the point of starting for the county seat 
forty miles away in order to be there on time in 
the morning. He had no time to ask questions, 


THE CUP AND THE LIP 


175 


but merely told them to make themselves at home 
and take anything they wanted. The two boys 
took him at his word and, having possessed them- 
selves of his spare Colt and a Winchester, they had 
supper and turned in at once. 


CHAPTER XX 


TRAPPED 

I T was pitch dark when they arose at three 
o’clock. Even after their hurried breakfast of 
warmed-over coffee and bacon, it was still so dark 
that they could scarcely see a horse’s length in 
front of them. However, they saddled up and 
started slowly toward the northwest, and presently 
the impenetrable blackness began to give way to 
the gold gray of dawn. 

Slowly, gradually, the inky pall lifted, the hori- 
zon widened, until at length the whole vast, flat 
expanse rolled out before them, stripped of the 
glamor given it by the play of sunlight and shadow, 
a grim, lifeless, forbidding waste. Somewhere 
amongst the rocks a coyote howled his long-dr ami, 
quavering protest against the desolation of it all. 
Once, high overhead, they saw a buzzard floating, 
a motionless black patch against the cold gray sky. 

The friends shivered and urged their horses 
faster, and by the time the sun rose, they had put 
twelve or fifteen miles between them and the ranch 
house. 

The hut they were in search of was still a good 
way off— at least fifty miles, if they could believe 
176 


TEAPPED 


177 


the testimony of one of Ed’s cow-punchers ; and 
they would need every bit of their early start to 
reach it before nightfall. They were not anxious 
to get there much before dusk, lest their surprise 
should fail. On the other hand unless they came 
within sight of it while there was still light, they 
might miss it altogether. So they pushed on as 
rapidly as they could without utterly exhausting 
the horses, and about three in the afternoon be- 
gan to encounter the scattered rocks and boulders, 
the rifts and gullies, and canyons which marked 
the beginning of the breaks. 

This was distinctly encouraging, and as they 
rode into the first canyon, they wondered whether 
their informant could have been right in placing 
the shack so far away. They had scarcely 
emerged from the narrow, closed-in walls, before 
the sun, which up to now had been shining brightly 
out of a cloudless sky, began to grow curiously dull 
and lifeless as though a smoky veil was being 
drawn across it. Interested as they were in their 
discussion, they failed to notice this for some min- 
utes. Then the unnatural saffron tint of every- 
thing about forced it on their attention. Abruptly 
they ceased talking and glanced quickly upward. 

“Whew!” exclaimed Homer tersely. 
“Norther!” 

Without further words they hastened to unstrap 


178 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

slickers from behind the saddles, shook them out 
and quickly slipped them on, at every moment 
casting anxious glances at the sky. Already the 
curious haze was passing, giving place to great 
masses of dark clouds that rushed up from the 
horizon at an incredible speed, expanding and 
spreading out on every side as they advanced. 
There was a stillness in the air, ominous and un- 
natural, as though the earth had ceased for a mo- 
ment to breathe and was waiting expectantly for 
the catastrophe. 

“I wonder if we ’d be any better off back in the 
canyon ? ’ ’ Homer questioned, as he pulled his hat 
down over his eyes. 

“I don’t believe so. I didn’t see much of any 
shelter there. Gee! Here she comes. ” 

A murmur like the humming of a gigantic top 
came faintly to them over the prairie beyond the 
breaks and, twisting in their saddles, they looked 
northward. Far away across the level surface a 
wavering sheet of sand was sweeping toward them 
as swiftly as a bird can fly. The rolling, tumbling, 
low-hanging clouds rushed madly on, faster and 
faster as though trying to escape the very wind 
itself. The murmur grew louder ; merged into a 
sound like the breaking of surf upon a rocky shore. 
And then, with a deafening roar, the storm caught 
them. 


TRAPPED 


179 


An instant before Curly had taken a deep gulp 
of air, and then held his breath, and it was as well 
he did. Otherwise he would have stood a good 
chance of being smothered by the sand which en- 
veloped him in an impenetrable cloud. It filled 
his hair, poured down his neck, found its way into 
every tiny opening in Iris clothes. And the biting, 
stinging particles, driven by irresistible force, 
were harder to stand against than snow or hail or 
rain, or anything of the sort he had ever known. 
Frantic with pain, Red Bird became instantly un- 
manageable and, taking the bit in his teeth, bolted. 
All Curly could do was to try and guide him so 
that he would not run headlong into anything, but 
even this was difficult when he could see scarcely a 
dozen feet ahead. 

In perhaps ten minutes there was a slight let-up, 
due to the passing of the first great volume of 
sand. But it was very slight, and the storm con- 
tinued with uninterrupted violence for what 
seemed to the boy an eternity, but which was, in 
fact, little less than an hour. Then it began gradu- 
ally to subside. The wind decreased, the biting 
showers of sand slowly lessened and finally ceased 
altogether, and Curly managed to pull Red Bird 
down to a walk. 

Homer was nowhere in sight, but Curly had 
rather expected that. As he pulled off his hat and 


180 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

shook out the sand, he looked about in every di- 
rection, hoping to see his friend issue from some 
canyon or rocky shelter. But nothing of the sort 
happened, and as the minutes passed the boy be- 
gan to grow impatient. He was on the point of 
starting back to institute a search, when, out of 
the tail of his eye, he caught sight of a horseman 
disappearing into a canyon considerably more than 
a mile ahead. 

* 1 Humph !” he grunted, spurring forward. 
“He might have given me a yell. I s’pose he 
thinks that ’s funny .’ ’ 

As he rode along, making what speed he could 
over the rough ground, Curly realized that the 
character of the scenery had changed greatly. 
Everywhere rocks were piled up in confusion, 
clothed with scraggly trees and undergrowth, and 
sliced by ravines and canyons without number. It 
looked very much like the breaks which bordered 
the Canadian river just across from the Circle 
Bar, and he wondered how far the storm had car- 
ried them out of their way. 

When he entered the canyon where he had 
glimpsed Homer, the latter was nowhere to be seen 
though his trail showed quite plainly in the shift- 
ing sand. Curly fumed inwardly as he followed 
it. It was certainly a silly sort of business, this 
playing hide and seek, and he wished Homer would 


TRAPPED 


181 


come alive and stop his nonsense. The trail led 
straight through the canyon and up to the level 
again. Then it swerved sharply to the left and 
wound in and out amongst the rocks in a bewilder- 
ing fashion. All at once, as Curly had about 
made up his mind to punch Homer’s head the min- 
ute he caught up with him, it suddenly emerged 
upon a small open space a couple of hundred feet 
across, quite hemmed in by rocks. 

To one side, barely forty feet away, was a rough 
wooden shack, a tiny spiral of smoke curling from 
a chimney at the farther end. The door was 
closed, and standing in front of it, head down and 
bridle reins trailing, was a horse at the sight of 
which Curly gave a start and pulled in Red Bird 
abruptly. For though the roan was of much the 
same height and general appearance as Homer’s 
mount, Curly instantly realised that it was not his 
at all. 

“ Thunder!” he muttered, wheeling swiftly. 
“I ’d better get out of here and do it quick.” 

i ‘What ’s your hurry, son? Better stop a while 
and rest up?” 

A tall, powerfully built man with a Winchester 
tucKed under one arm, had risen silently from 
among the rocks at his right and stood regarding 
him quizzically. Before Curly could reply, 
another figure appeared with equal celerity on 


182 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


the other side, and a familiar voice drawled jeer- 
ingly: 

“Y-as, stay awhile, Meester Curly, an’ see your 
fren’s.” 

Turning, with a quick tightening of his throat, 
the boy saw Pedro standing there, a Colt in one 
hand and his ugly face wreathed in a smile of ma- 
licious satisfaction. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE HAND OF A CHILD 

F OR a second or two the boy looked steadily 
at the Mexican without speaking. Then he 
turned back to the other man, his heart beating 
rapidly but his lips curved in a slight smile. 

“You ’re sure very pressing,’ ’ he said, resting 
one hand on the horn of his saddle. “I reckon 
I ’ll have to accept your invitation.” 

The big man stepped down from the rocks and 
stood beside him. ‘ ‘ Good, ’ ’ he grunted. ‘ ‘ S ’pose 
you hop off, an’ I ’ll look after your cayuse.” 

Curly swung himself to the ground and the 
other, reaching forward, dexterously plucked his 
six-shooter — Ed Winton’s, to be more exact — out 
of the holster and thrust it into his own belt. 

“From a child I was always terrible scared o’ 
firearms,” he remarked with a perfectly serious 
face as he took the bridle reins. ‘ ‘ Some people are 
so darned careless with ’em.” 

“They do have a way of going off unexpect- 
edly,” Curly agreed. “Want me to go into the 
house?” 


183 


184 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

The man grinned. “Sure. There ’s a friend 
o’ yours in there. Take him in to see Shifty, 
Pedro.” 

The Mexican smiled unpleasantly as he stepped 
forward. “Verra like old times to see yo’ again,” 
he jeered. “ ’Member Jones Camp?” 

Curly wheeled fiercely on him. “Shut up, you 
dirty greaser!” he flared, his jaw set. “Don’t 
talk to me or I ’ll smash your thick skull. ’ ’ 

The big fellow laughed, and Pedro turned livid 
and made a threatening motion with his gun. But 
at that moment the door opened and Shifty Harris 
stood on the threshold. 

“Well, well!” he drawled blandly. “To think 
of yuh lookin’ me up so soon! I sure do feel flat- 
tered. It ’s a great thing to be popular with folks. 
Step right in an’ make yourself to home.” 

Though writhing inwardly at his helplessness, 
Curly managed to keep up a good front as he en- 
tered the cabin and sat down on a nail-keg. “Nice 
place you ’ve got here,” he commented, as he 
glanced about the room. 

Shifty stood beside the table eyeing him quiz- 
zically. “It ain’t bad”’ he agreed. “Comfort- 
able, roomy, an 9 retired; so retired, yuh might say 
nobody, hardly, ever comes to see me so I ’m jest 
nachurally anxious to keep yuh here a good long 
time.” 


THE HAND OF A CHILD 


185 


As the boy sat there, his fingers loosely linked 
about his crossed knee, an idea suddenly came to 
him and he leaned forward impulsively. 

“What 's the game, anyhow, Shifty ?" he asked 
earnestly. “What 's it all about? What do you 
want to keep me for? Can't you tell a fellow? 
I 'm just about eaten up with curiosity." 

There was the briefest possible pause as the 
man looked at him seriously, an odd sort of specu- 
lation in his glance. It was as if he were swiftly 
turning over something in his mind, weighing pros 
and cons, debating inwardly, perhaps, as to 
whether another allegiance might pay him better 
than his pact with Graham. But almost instantly 
the mood had passed. His eyes gleamed mock- 
ingly again, and he shook his head. 

“Nothing doing, kid," he observed lightly. “I 
jest want yuh around because I 'm so darn stuck 
on your company. An' you 're such a slippery 
cuss I reckon I 'll have to make dead sure of you 
this time." 

He stepped over to the wall and took down a 
rope which hung there. Then he let out a yell for 
“Bill," and in a moment or two the tall man re- 
sponded. As Curly watched these preparations, 
a wave of despair came over him, but he made no 
protest. It would be an entirely useless waste of 
time, he knew, so he submitted quietly, and in a 


186 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


few minutes his hands and feet were tied securely 
and he was thrust into a bunk which stood to one 
side of the fireplace. 

‘ ‘ There !” Shifty remarked in a satisfied tone. 
“I guess you won’t slip out of that in a hurry. 
Yuh might as well get used to it first as last, ’cause 
it ’ll be some time before — ” 

He paused abruptly and bit his lip. Then, with- 
out further comment he stepped over to the far 
corner of the room and, taking something from a 
shelf, stuffed it into his pocket. Curly saw that 
it was the tin box. He also noticed that the raw- 
hide was still about it and that apparently it had 
not been opened. Having secured the box, Shifty 
drew his companion to one side and for some min- 
utes they conversed in whispers. Then they went 
outside, closing the door behind them. 

Left alone, Curly began at once to test the rope 
by pulling and twisting his wrists, but a very few 
minutes of this convinced him that if he had to 
depend solely on his own efforts he would stay 
there forever. Abandoning the effort, he lay back 
and his gaze wandered speculatively around the 
room. A rough stone fireplace filled one end. 
There were a few rough chairs and a long table. 
About the walls, hanging from wooden pegs, was 
an extraordinary variety of bridles, spurs, hats 


THE HAND OF A CHILD 187 

and garments of all sorts; the floor was covered 
with a dirty litter of odds and ends. 

At length the boy’s glance fell upon a narrow 
closed door in the opposite wall and he wondered 
where it led to. Probably a lean-to, he decided, 
which he had not seen from the outside. And then 
he must have dozed off, for he remembered noth- 
ing more until something startled him into com- 
plete wakefulness and he found himself gazing 
intently across the room trying to place the sound 
which had aroused him. 

Presently it came again, a slight creaking, and 
he saw the door opposite move a little. Fascin- 
ated, he watched it open little by little barely an 
inch at a time. At length a small, towsled head 
was thrust through the narrow opening and a pair 
of black, beady eyes darted swift, suspicious 
glances about the room. In the course of time 
they lighted upon Curly and stayed there, grow- 
ing larger and blacker and rounder until it seemed 
as if they must soon pop out with surprise. 

Finally, after ten minutes of this silent scrutiny, 
a figure slipped into the room, and Curly saw that 
it was a very small boy, with long black hair mat- 
ted and tangled, and face and hands incredibly 
grimy. He was dressed with extreme simplicity 
in a cotton shirt and a pair of man ’s trowsers 


188 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


which had been cut away above the knee and which 
seemed fairly to swallow him up, so full were 
they in the seat and so large were the legs, 
from beneath which peeped the child’s small 
bare toes. 

For a few moments he stood motionless, his 
back against the door, surveying Curly silently. 
And as he looked the expression of intense sur- 
prise slowly changed to something quite different 
and infinitely less pleasant. The small lips nar- 
rowed uncannily; the round black eyes took on a 
look of mingled cunning and ferocity that was 
ghastly in a child who could not possibly have been 
more than five years old. And as he began an ex- 
aggerated stealthy approach across the room, 
Curly noticed for the first time that, stuck into a 
rope tied about his waist was the stock and a piece 
of the frame of an antiquated Colt, and also the 
hilt with about three inches of the blade of a hunt- 
ing knife. 

The child came slowly, throwing now and then 
a fearsome glance at the outer door, and when he 
reached the side of the bunk he stood staring at 
Curly for a few moments. Then, without warn- 
ing, he struck the boy a sharp blow with his small 
fist and leaped back, ready to fly should the other 
make any move. Presently, reassured, he re- 


THE HAND OF A CHILD 189 

turned to the bunk and a moment later poked a 
tentative finger at one of Curly ’s eyes. 

“Get out! Stop that!” the latter exclaimed 
fiercely, as he writhed helplessly. “I ’ll — I ’ll bite 
your finger off if you do that again.” 

The child flew across the room but was back in 
a moment, and this time he held the broken knife 
in one hand. Desperate, Curly was about to shout 
for help, when an idea suddenly came to him. 

“You can’t cut anything with that,” he said 
tauntingly. 

The child ’s eyes flashed. ‘ * Can so, ’ ’ he retorted 
fiercely. 

“I ’ll bet you can’t. It ’s too darn dull.” 

“Show you.” The small boy made a sudden 
pass at Curly’s face and the latter shrank back 
into the bunk. 

i 1 Oh, I don ’t mean that. Of course you can cut 
me. You could do that with a piece of tin. But 
you can’t cut a piece of rope.” 

For a moment the child eyed him silently. 
Then his glance wandered to the other side of the 
room where the coil of rope had hung. Curly 
watched him keenly, his heart beating rapidly. 
There was hope at last, if he could only work it 
right. With an effort he pulled himself together. 

“I ’ll bet you can’t cut this rope,” he said 


190 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

quietly, as lie rolled over with his face to the wall 
and his hound hands turned outward toward the 
child. 

In the silence which followed he could hear his 
heart thudding loudly and unevenly, and every 
nerve quivered under the strain of waiting. The 
little fiend might do anything. He was quite as 
likely to hack at his wrists as to cut the rope, and 
Curly knew well enough what a severed artery 
would mean. And all the time he was listening 
eagerly, feverishly, for the sound of footsteps out- 
side. The perspiration gathered in little beads on 
his forehead, and when something suddenly 
touched his wrists, he had to grit his teeth to keep 
from crying out. But it was only the child’s 
fingers fumbling about where the rope was knotted, 
and presently his voice cut sharply through the 
silence. 

4 ‘ Show you, ’ ’ he said in a shrill, childish treble, 
with that odd touch of fierceness in it. And the 
next instant he began to saw at the rope with the 
broken knife-blade. 

Though the edge was dulled and the hand which 
guided it weak and uncertain, Curly felt the 
strands slowly part one by one as they were sawed 
through. So frantic with impatience was he that, 
heedless of the pain, he helped matters a little by 
forcing his wrists apart with all the strength he 


THE HAND OF A CHILD 


191 


could summon. Bit by bit tlie hemp gave as the 
knife cut through it; and then, all at once, the 
thing he had dreaded came. 

A step sounded without, the latch clicked, and 
quite suddenly Curly’s self-control snapped like 
a rope when the strain becomes too great. With 
a tremendous effort he tore his hands loose, turned 
with a single bound and snatched the knife from 
the child’s fingers. The next instant the cords on 
his ankles were severed, and he stumbled to his 
feet, swayed a moment, and with swift, uncertain 
steps, reached the door, snatching from the wall 
as he passed a heavy, loaded quirt which hung 
there. 


CHAPTER XXII 


AN OLD SCORE 

F ORTUNATELY for Curly there had been a 
momentary interruption outside : nothing 
else could have saved him. The man who had 
started to enter was evidently standing, his hand 
on the latch, while he talked with some one else, 
for the murmur of their voices came indistinctly 
through the warped boards. Curly sent a search- 
ing glance back into the room, but the child had 
vanished swiftly and silently as a wild thing. 
Then the latch clicked again, and as the door slowly 
opened, the boy took a fresh grip on his quirt and 
crouched for a spring. 

“Yes, saddle up the black as quick as you can.” 
It was Shifty’s voice. “I got to be off right 
away. ’ ’ 

There was a mumbled answer, the door swung 
open briskly, and Harris stepped in, closing it be- 
hind him. A look of intense surprise flashed into 
his eyes, his mouth half opened as if to give a 
shout of warning, but that was all. Before he 
could even raise a hand, the weighted end of the 

192 


AN OLD SCORE 


193 


quirt struck him squarely between the eyes and 
without a sound he collapsed in a limp heap on the 
floor. 

Like a flash Curly pounced on him, for there was 
not a minute to lose. Snatching the six-shooter 
from his belt, he tore the tin box out of the uncon- 
scious man’s pocket and transferred it to his own. 
Then he caught up his hat from where it lay in a 
corner, and opening the door, looked out. 

There was no one in sight. He walked to the 
corner of the cabin and peered around it. Still 
no one ; but directly behind the shack stood a long, 
low ramshackle shed and through the open door 
came clearly the lilt of a sentimental Spanish song 
Pedro had been wont to croon back at the ranch. 
Curly’s jawed squared with a sudden, grim satis- 
faction as he moved softly toward it. Inside, the 
place was larger than one would have supposed. 
A dozen rough stalls, many of them with occu- 
pants ranged along one side, leaving a space some 
six feet wide at the other. In this open passage, 
quite close to the door, stood a horse, coal black 
save for a triangular splotch of white on his fore- 
head, and bending over buckling the cinch was 
Pedro. There was no one else in sight, and 
Curly’s smile grew grimmer as he moved softly 
forward to cover the unconscious Mexican, who 
was just beginning another verse of his song. 


194 CUELY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


“Del cielo la estrella Brilliante, 

El viento que viene del mar , 

Sabiendo tu perfidia te adora, 

Porque lo llam-m-m ” 

The words died in a stammering, choking gurgle 
as he stood up. His face was ashen and his eyes 
full of a sudden terror. 

‘ ‘ Well, Pedro, you look kind of sick,” observed 
Curly maliciously. ‘ 4 Are n ’t you glad to see me?’’ 

The Mexican’s lips moved spasmodically, but 
no sound came. Curly’s face grew suddenly seri- 
ous as he remembered that there was no time for 
fooling. 

‘ ‘ Where ’s Bill?” he asked curtly. 

“He — he gone,” stammered the Mexican. 

“Good. Now listen here. Take that saddle off 
and put mine on, and do it quick — quick , you un- 
derstand. If you can’t get some speed up, I ’ll — ” 

He finished with a threatening movement of his 
Colt. The Mexican’s knees trembled. 

“Doan shoot!” he gasped. “Doan shoot! I 
— I do it.” 

With frantic haste he tore the saddle off the 
black and flung it to the floor. Then he made a 
dart for a row of saddles hanging on pegs and 
fumbled among them. Three or four came down 
with a crash, but, unheeding, he clutched the right 
one and running back with it threw it on the horse. 


AN OLD SCORE 195 

In a thrice the cinch was buckled, and he stood up, 
eying Curly fearsomely. 

‘ ‘ Come over here, ’ ’ the latter commanded. And 
as the Mexican approached in fear and trembling, 
the boy plucked the Colt out of his holster and then 
motioned him back against the wall. 

“That ’s about all, I reckon,’ ’ said Curly, tak- 
ing the bridle reins. “No, wait a minute.” He 
turned back. “Take out your knife. Good. 
Now cut the cinch and stirrup leathers on that sad- 
dle — cut ’em off altogether. ’ ’ Pedro obeyed with- 
out question. “Now cut ’em off all those other 
ones. ’ ’ 

The frightened man promptly did as he was told, 
and Curly watched the mutilation with consider- 
able satisfaction. It was the best he could do to 
hinder pursuit. When it was all over, he led the 
black out of the shed, and as he did so Red Bird, 
tied in a stall at the farther end, lifted his head and 
whinnied inquiringly. Curly paused hesitatingly 
and glanced back. 

“It ’s a shame I can’t ride you, old fellow,” he 
said regretfully. “But you ’re plumb done up, 
and could n ’t carry me ten miles. I sure do hate 
to leave you. Hanged if I will, either!” He 
looked at Pedro. “Turn that horse loose,” he 
ordered tersely. 

The moment the halter was untied, Red Bird 


196 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

backed hurriedly out of the stall and, trotting to 
the door, squeezed through it. 

“Came pretty near getting left, did n’t you, old 
boy,” Curly said, as the horse poked his nose into 
the boy’s hand. “You ’ve got to travel lively to 
come with me, you know.” Then he looked back 
at Pedro. “I ’m going to shut this door,” he re- 
marked, “and if you open it inside half an hour, 
I ’ll certainly make a human colander out of you. 
Get me?” 

With which parting threat he pushed the door 
shut, sprang into the saddle and rode rapidly 
around the cabin, with Red Bird at his heels. A 
moment later he was on the narrow trail which zig- 
zagged in and out among the rocks to the canyon 
below. 

His one desire was to get away from the spot as 
quickly as he could, and mingled with it was a 
growing anxiety as to what had become of Homer. 
It seemed impossible that he could have been lost 
for all this time, unless, of course, he had dis- 
covered whither the trail led and purposely kept 
away from the cabin. In that case he would prob- 
ably be hiding somewhere close at hand, and as the 
horse made his way slowly down the rough track. 
Curly kept a sharp lookout on all sides for his 
friend. 

The sun had dropped behind the rocks and al- 


AN OLD SCORE 


197 


ready dusky shadows were gathering in the lower 
levels of the canyon. In a short time the darkness 
would be upon him, and Curly did his best to urge 
the black to greater speed, but to no purpose. 
With a maddening composure which nothing 
served to shake, the animal continued to pick his 
way leisurely down the rock-strewn slope until he 
had traversed about two-thirds of the distance. 
Then, without warning, a bullet suddenly spatted 
against a boulder beside Curly, the sound of a shot 
rang in his ears, and twisting in his saddle, the boy 
saw, standing high up on the rocks behind him the 
figure of a man with a rifle, silhouetted against the 
clear, pale, golden blue of the western sky. 

He must have stood seven or eight hundred feet 
away, and every ordinary trace of identity was 
lost, yet something in his pose reminded the boy 
of Pedro. When a second shot came, and the bul- 
let raised a tiny puff of dust in the trail ahead, he 
remembered the Mexican ’s lack of proficiency with 
a gun and breathed a sigh of relief. It was most 
annoying not to be able to return the fire, but his 
Colt was useless at such a distance, and the only 
thing to do was to get out of range as quickly as 
possible. 

He had just made the last turn which showed 
the way clear before him, and was looking back 
instinctively at the Mexican, when a shot sounded 


198 CUELY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

so close, so unexpected, that he nearly tumbled 
out of his saddle with the shock. The man above 
stood rigid for a single, brief moment. Then, with 
a convulsive movement he flung the rifle from him 
and clutched at his right shoulder. An instant 
later he staggered back and disappeared. 

“Well, he ’s winged, I guess,’ ’ drawled a voice. 

Curly turned quickly and found himself face to 
face with Homer, who stood at the bottom of the 
canyon with Ed Winton’s borrowed rifle under one 
arm. 

‘ ‘ Gee ! Y ou certainly gave me a shock, ’ ’ he said, 
urging his horse forward. “Where ’ve you been 
all this timer’ 

Homer’s face assumed an expression of hurt 
surprise. “Where ’ve I been!” he repeated 
tartly. i ‘ That ’s a nice question to ask, when I ’ve 
spent the afternoon crawling around these rocks, 
tearing my clothes to bits and wearing my mind 
to shreds trying to find out if you ’d been fool 
enough to ride right up to this Harris’s front door 
as if you were making a social call. Seems to me I 
ought to be asking where you ’ve been. ’ ’ 

Curly laughed. “I was an awful fool,” he ac- 
knowledged. “I thought I was following you, and 
I walked right into them. But where ’s your 
horse? We ought to be hitting the high places.” 

4 ‘ Back here a ways. ’ ’ They were walking down 


AN OLD SCORE 199 

the canyon. “You seem to have lit on your feet. 
Does that black belong to Shifty ?” 

“It was in his stable. Goodness knows who it 
really belongs to. I Ve got the tin box, too.” 
Curly could not quite keep the triumph out of his 
voice. 

“You have ! ’ ’ Homer ’s eyes and mouth opened 
simultaneously. “Wough! You’re all to the 
good, kid! Guess I won’t send in that bill for 
lacerated clothes, after all. Let ’s open it now. 
I want to see what ’s in it before it disappears 
again. ’ ’ 

“We have n’t got time. That bunch is likely to 
be after us any minute. ’ ’ 

Without a word Homer sprinted ahead about 
fifty feet, dived into an opening to the right, and 
emerged a moment later on his horse. 

“Why the deuce did n’t you say so before?” he 
demanded, as they galloped down the canyon. “I 
thought you ’d fixed ’em all. You ’re not such 
pumpkins as I thought. Who were they? How ’d 
you get away? Tell us about it.” 

“Well, there was Shifty,” Curly began, “a tall 
fellow named Bill, and Pedro — ” 

1 < Pedro ! ’ ’ interrupted Homer viciously. ‘ ‘ That 
son-of-a-gun ? I ’d like to have got my hands on 
him.” 

“You did. He was the one you shot. ” 


200 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


Homer looked incredulous. “Honest? Was it 
— honest ?” he demanded. “Well, that was very 
clever of little Johnny — though I wish that slug 
had hit somewhere else than his shoulder. Still, 
it was better than nothing. But don’t let me in- 
terrupt.” 

Curly proceeded with the story and told it with 
all the detail which Homer’s frequent questions 
demanded. The latter was much taken with the 
small boy. 

“I would n’t mind owning a kid like that,” he 
observed admiringly. “He ’s sure got spunk. ’ ’ 

“You can have him. Of course he did me a 
mighty good turn, but he likewise gave me about 
the most unpleasant five minutes I ’ve ever put 
in.” 

“Where do you s’pose he came from?” 

“I suppose there was an addition at the back of 
the cabin I did n’t see. Very likely Shifty or one 
of the men has a Mexican wife. The kid looked 
as if he had Mexican blood, though it might have 
been mostly dirt. Say, boy, we ’ll break our necks 
if we keep on much longer. ’ ’ 

It was almost pitch dark and for the last twenty 
minutes they had been riding at a snail’s pace 
with both horses constantly stumbling over loose 
rolling stones or larger boulders. 

“The moon ought to be up in a couple of hours,” 


AN OLD SCORE 


201 


Homer observed, as they pulled up to consider the 
situation. “It ’s not much of a one, but it will give 
us enough light to see our way out of these rocks. ’ ’ 

Curly slipped off his horse and stretched him- 
self. “I reckon we can stop that long, but those 
fellows are likely to get busy as soon as Shifty 
comes alive. Of course they can ’t travel any bet- 
ter in the dark than we can, and we ’ve got a fair 
start. I ’d like to know what became of that chap 
Bill.” He felt around for something to tie the 
reins to. “He ’s worried me considerable.” 

“Maybe he was sent off some place,” Homer 
suggested. “Why can’t we light a fire and read 
those papers? You haven’t lost ’em, I hope.” 

Curly gave his pocket a reassuring slap. “No, 
sir ! They ’re safe, all right. I reckon we ’ll have 
to wait till daylight, though, to see what ’s in them. 
It would n ’t be safe to light a fire so near the trail. 
Well, old boy, did you think it was about time 
somebody took notice of you?” He stroked Red 
Bird ’s nose as it was thrust into his hand. ‘ ‘ What 
do you think of a horse, kid, that ’ll follow you 
around like a dog?” 

“He ’s all right, isn’t he? I wish mine had 
half the sense. That sand storm had him plumb 
locked, and he took me so far off the trail that I 
was clean lost. That ’s why I didn’t catch up to 
you.” 


202 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

Curly grinned sheepishly. “I sure played the 
idiot following the first horse I saw. I s’pose it 
was lucky, though, the way things turned out. 
Otherwise we might not have got — Listen!” 

He broke off abruptly, and in the tense silence 
which followed he could hear his heart beat. Then 
suddenly from out the darkness there came faintly 
the jingle of a spur, the soft thud of horses’ hoofs 
on the thick sand, the click as one of them struck 
a rock. He felt Homer clutch his arm. 

4 4 They ’re coming up the trail!” breathed the 
latter in a strained whisper. 4 4 Gag your horse, 
quick ! ’ ’ 

Curly was standing beside the black, and Red 
Bird still nosed about his pocket where he some- 
times found sugar. As the realization of their 
danger came to him, the boy reached out blindly, 
and more by good luck than management touched 
the black’s head, slid his fingers down and gripped 
his nostrils. At the same time he caught Red 
Bird’s nozzle with his left hand, and waited. 

The tramping came nearer; there must have 
been three or four horses from the noise. There 
was a murmur of voices, and the boy caught a 
pungent whiff of tobacco wafted to him by the 
light breeze. And then, quite suddenly, out of the 
darkness, there came the shrill nickering of a horse 
who knows that one of his kind is not far away. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

PAUL GRAHAM’S SECRET 

B OTH horses tried at once to throw up their 
heads and answer the call. Curly had a 
good grip on the black, but to his dismay he felt 
Red Bird’s nose slipping little by little through 
his fingers. Desperate, he breathed a fierce com- 
mand to the horse to stand still, and strangely 
enough the animal obeyed him. The strangers 
passed within twenty feet without a pause, and 
the danger was over. Neither of the boys spoke, 
however, for a good five minutes, when Homer 
broke the silence. 

4 4 Whew!” he murmured, brushing his hand 
across his face. “That was some close.” 

Curly let go the horses and leaned back against 
a boulder. “You ’ve said it, ’ ’ he agreed. 4 4 Hold- 
ing these cayuses was some job. If they ’d pulled 
an inch further apart I ’d have been pretty nearly 
torn in half. I wasn’t cut out for an acrobat, 
that ’s sure.” 

“Well, we came out of it all right,” commented 

203 


204 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

Homer. “Those fellows are headed for Shifty’s 
place, I reckon.” 

“I expect it ’s Bill and some of his friends. 
We ’d better get a move on, moon or no moon.” 
Curly was loosening the reins as he spoke. 

Homer quite agreed with him, and, mounting, 
they started on as best they could. About nine 
o’clock the moon rose and made travelling easier, 
but they were still at sea regarding their where- 
abouts. They figured, however, that the storm 
must have diverted them to the south, so that if 
they rode due east they would either strike their 
back trail or some familiar landmark. But it 
was long past daybreak when they found them- 
selves on the northern border of Ed Winton’s 
ranch. 

At seven they reached the ranch house, utterly 
done up from weariness and lack of sleep. Ed 
had not yet returned, so there were no questions 
to be answered. They hurriedly turned the horses 
into a corral, got something to eat and then 
tumbled into bed. When Curly opened his eyes 
it seemed as if he could not have slept more than 
an hour or two, but a glance at his watch told him 
that it was almost five o’clock. Homer still slum- 
bered heavily beside him, and reaching over he 
gave the boy a shake. 

“Wake up, kid,” he called. “It ’s ’most five.” 


PAUL GRAHAM’S SECRET 206 

Homer turned over with a groan. “Get out,” 
he mumbled. “Leave me alone.” 

Curly shook him again. “Come on; get up,” 
he said. “ I ’m going to open the box. ’ ’ 

When this had penetrated to the other’s brain, 
he sat up sleepily, and presently they were dressed 
and sitting at a table, the tin box in front of them. 
Without delay, Curly slit the rawhide with his 
knife and pried up the cover, which had been so 
rusted into place that it was almost as if it had 
been soldered on. Inside was a slender, oblong 
packet carefully wrapped in a piece of oiled silk, 
and when this was unrolled three letters dropped 
out. With fingers that shook a little, Curly un- 
folded the top one and spread it out on the table 
in front of them. For a few minutes their heads 
bent over it in silence ; then Curly looked blankly 
at his companion. 

“I don’t understand it,” he said slowly. 
“What ’s it all mean?” 

“I does sound kind of involved,” returned 
Homer. “ Suppose you read it out loud. Maybe 
we ’d get the sense better.” 

Curly picked up the sheet, hesitated an instant 
and then began to read in a low voice. 

Galveston, July 22nd, 189 — 

Dear Jerry: 

Things are going fine here, better than I expected. Thanks 


206 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


to the letters, etc., and more than that, to the information I got 
out of P. G. before he passed in his checks, there has been no 
hitch whatever in the identification. I ’ve even seen a friend 
of my boyhood days, a banker, who recognized me, though he 
says I ’ve changed considerably since he last saw me years 
ago. Funny, isn’t it ? It ’s lucky I met him, for he ’s going 
to put up the bond, and at the moment I don’t recall anyone 
else I could call on to do it. From all I can find out this 
will be the best deal we ever got together on. Of course 
there’s great excitement about the disappearance of the kid, 
but since it happened so long before I appeared on the scene, 
no one thinks of connecting me with it. Besides, I have 
played the heart-broken uncle to perfection and am very active 
in trying to run down the kidnappers, offering large rewards, 
etc. So you ’d better lie mighty low for a good time. I ’d like 
to have managed the girl, too, but that couldn’t be done. Any- 
how, a girl is always easier to handle than a boy. They never 
know anything about business and always believe what you 
tell them. 

Be careful, now, and don’t let some fool stumble onto any- 
thing. I shall keep offering the rewards for some months, and 
by that time the thing will have blown over. If the place 
you ’re in is n’t perfectly safe, better go over to Mexico for a 
while. I ’ll keep you posted as matters develop. Am sending 
this by Shifty. 


Curly moistened his lips. “ Jim!” he repeated 
huskily. “It can’t be — ” 

“Of course it is l” exclaimed Homer excitedly. 
“Dandy Jim! You were right, after all. If old 
Graham wrote that letter he must be Dandy Jim. ’ ’ 
“And the kid? Do you s’pose that kid — is 
me?” 

“Sure! You must be. Isn’t the letter to 


207 


PAUL GRAHAM’S SECRET 

Jerry, and didn’t Jerry have the kid he talks 
about? And did n’t you live with Jerry as long as 
you can remember anything? You must be the 
same one.” 

Homer made his points emphatically, but with 
a fine disregard for grammar. Curly did not 
speak for a moment. His face was drawn and a 
little white; his eyes were troubled. 

“If that ’s so,” he said slowly, “who am I, any- 
how?” 

“You ’ve got me. Read the other letters. 
Maybe there ’ll be something more in them about 
it.” 

Curly unfolded the next sheet which was much 
shorter than the first 

Galveston, Sept. 3rd. 

Dear Jerry: 

Yours received, and glad to note everything all right. The 
matter here is going to be more difficult than I thought. The 
property pans out all right — three hundred thousand in stocks 
and bonds, real estate here and in Chicago, and a ranch in the 
Panhandle. But it's tied up in such a way that I shan’t be 
able to realize on it for a good long time. I begin to wonder 
whether we were wise, after all, to pinch the kid. It compli- 
cates things a lot. I shall have to continue as P.G. indefi- 
nitely — don’t forget that in writing, and don’t write at all 
unless it ’s very important. I don’t want to run any risk. 
Be careful. The rewards are still out. 


Destroy this letter when you have read it; also all others 
from me. 


208 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


44 Humph !” grunted Homer. 4 4 That doesn’t 
tell an awful lot. Let ’s have the other one.” 

Curly took up the last sheet. 4 4 This is from 
Chicago, two years later,” he commented. 

Dear Jerry: 

Don’t be a fool. You can’t come here; it Would ruin every- 
thing. Can’t you see that in order to make as much as possible 
out of this, I’ll have to keep on as I am 1 ? The ranch is just 
beginning to pay good dividends, and I am doing well in 
other directions. Your letter sounds as though you were afraid 
I was going back on you, but I ’ve never done that yet to a pal, 
and I don’t propose to begin now. I shall be down there in 
a couple of months and will bring some money with me. Don’t 
write again ; it is n’t safe. I hope that boy is n’t going to make 
trouble for us later. Don’t forget what I told you about 
burning my letters. It ’s too dangerous to keep them. 

Yours, 

Jim. 

Curly let the sheet fall to the table and sat 
silent, his eyes fixed thoughtfully on the floor. 
Homer’s brows were wrinkled painfully, and it 
was evident that he, too, was wrestling with the 
problem. 

4 4 It looks to me as if Graham and this Jim were 
the same person,” Curly said at length. 4 4 It 
seems as if, with all the interest he took in these 
letters, he must have written them himself.” 
Homer nodded silently. 4 4 From the way things 
fit in, I should say there was a pretty good chance 
of my being the boy who was kidnapped. ’ ’ Homer 
nodded again, emphatically. 4 4 The interesting 


PAUL GRAHAM’S SECRET 209 

part of the problem, then, is who Graham really is, 
and who — am I?” 

“You ’ve stated the case correctly, son,” re- 
marked Homer, resting his elbows on the table 
and cupping his chin in his open palms. “Let ’s 
hear what you make of it. ’ ’ 

“Well, the first thing seems to be that old man 
Graham back there on the ranch isn’t Graham 
at all. Of course if he was the outlaw, Dandy 
Jim, he might have been Paul Graham to start 
with; but that part where he speaks of getting 
letters and information out of P. G. before he 
passed in, makes that impossible. Who the real 
Paul Graham was I haven’t the least idea. He 
may have been murdered, or he may have just died. 
Anyhow, there must have been something mighty 
good in it, or the other fellow would never have 
taken all the risk of impersonating him. Perhaps 
he had money left him, or something. And there 
seems to have been two kids in his way ; likely they 
were brother and sister. We ’ll say that I was 
the boy, and — ” 

“And the girl is Jack!” exclaimed Homer, 
springing to his feet in excitement. ‘ 4 What a fool 
I was not to see it. Of course it ’s Jack.” 

Curly stared at him dazedly. 1 ‘ J ack ! ” he mur- 
mured, incredulously. “My sister! Why, I 
never thought — ” 


210 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

44 Whether she ’s your sister or not,” inter- 
rupted Homer, picking up the chair he had over- 
turned, “I ’ll bet a hat she ’s the girl Graham 
writes about in that first letter. ’ ’ 

Curly sat looking at him in an odd way for a 
few moments. “Well, we ’ll have to find that 
out,” he said presently. 

4 4 How the dickens will you do that?” 

4 4 Go to Galveston and make inquires,” retorted 
Curly laconically. 4 4 If the man who died was 
worth three hundred thousand, besides a lot of 
real estate, he must have been pretty well known. 
Even after all this time we ought to be able to 
get some particulars about him. ’ ’ 

4 4 That ’s so,” Homer agreed. 4 4 Gee! I won- 
der if he was your father?” 

4 4 1 don ’t know, ’ ’ Curly answered briefly. 4 4 1 ’ve 
been wondering so blamed much lately I ’ll go 
batty if I keep it up. Let ’s ride in to Midland 
to-morrow. We can take a train there for Gal- 
veston, and try to straighten this out. I don’t 
believe either of us will rest very easy till that ’s 
done. ’ ’ 

As he spoke he was idly tearing strips from a 
newspaper which lay on the table and folding 
them into small, compact pieces the size of the 
letters. When he had made three he wrapped 
them in the waterproof silk and, having tied the 


PAUL GRAHAM’S SECRET 


211 


package securely, lie balanced it meditatively in 
one hand. Homer eyed him curiously. 

“What are you doing that for?” he asked. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Curly answered vaguely. 
“Seeing if I could make it look the way it was 
when we found it, I reckon.” 

He dropped it into the tin box and replaced 
the cover. Then, gathering up the letters, he 
tucked them inside his shirt. At that moment 
the supper call sounded, and both boys hurried 
into the kitchen, ravenously hungry now that they 
were able to think about it. Afterwards they sat 
about with the men for a while but were soon over- 
powered by sleep and turned in. At six next 
morning they were up feeling infinitely refreshed, 
and as they hurried into their clothes they dis- 
cussed their plans. 

“We ’d better leave the black here as well as 
your pack horse,” Curly said as he brushed his 
hair vigorously “I ’ll leave a note for Ed telling 
him we ’ll come back for them, and explain all 
about the business.” 

“Yes, and tell him we had to take his six- 
shooter. I ’ll bring that back, too.” 

“I wonder what Shifty did with our guns,” 
mused Curly, picking up his neckerchief from the 
table. < ‘ The one I got from him was a great sight 
better — ” 


212 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


He paused abruptly, staring down at the table 
with widening eyes. The tin box lay there with 
its cover partly off. He could have sworn he had 
not left it that way last night. He picked up the 
box, put it down quickly and glanced at Homer. 

i ‘ Have you touched the box since we left it yes- 
terday ?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound 
casual. 

“No; why should I touch it!” returned Homer. 
“There ’s nothing in it — that is, nothing except 
that fake package you fixed up. ’ ’ 

“There isn’t even that there now.” Curly 
spoke slowly. He was feeling inside his shirt for 
the letters. “Somebody was in here last night 
and stole it.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE SEARCH FOR A NAME 

H OMER turned swiftly, his face a shade less 
brown. “Stole it!” he repeated blankly. 
‘ ‘ How could they f Who — ’ ’ 

“Who, is easy enough.” There was a note of 
relief in Curly’s voice; the letters were still there. 
“But I don’t see how the dickens they got in here 
without our hearing them.” 

Homer turned the box upside down and shook 
it, almost as though he expected the packet to be 
concealed somewhere inside. “You mean that one 
of the gang has been here ? ’ ’ 

“I don’t know who else would take it. Ed’s 
bunch are all right.” Curly was buckling on his 
cartridge belt with considerable haste. “The 
thing for us to do is to light out quick before they 
find they ’ve been fooled. Once we get on the 
train we ’ll be safe. They wouldn’t dare to fol- 
low us to Galveston.” 

Snatching up their hats, they hurried out to the 
kitchen where breakfast was choked down in about 
three minutes. In another ten the horses had been 

213 


214 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


roped and saddled and they started northward 
at a rapid pace, casting anxious, suspicious glances 
as they flew along. Midland was less than twenty- 
five miles away, but to their harassed senses it 
seemed double that distance. Several times they 
sighted men riding toward them and had quite pre- 
pared for a scrimmage, only to have them turn 
out commonplace cow-punchers on the ordinary 
business of the range. When they finally reached 
Midland about ten o’clock, they were worn out. 

“I feel as if I ’d been put through a clothes- 
wringer,” declared Homer, as they dismounted 
at the station. 

“It ’s fierce!” Curly took off his hat and 
mopped his forehead. “I don’t know that I ’m 
backward when it comes to a regular scrap. I ’m 
not looking for them, but I reckon I can hold my 
own in any mixup that comes along. But this 
waiting and wondering and not knowing when 
it ’ll come, or who it ’ll be, has certainly got my 
goat.” 

In reality they had ridden so hard that they had 
nearly two hours to wait for the train, which was 
not due until nearly noon. After bargaining with 
the hotel-keeper to look after their horses and 
saddles until they returned, they bought some 
crackers and dried beef and took these down to 
the station to eat. They might easily have had 


THE SEARCH FOR A NAME 215 

something cooked at the hotel, but somehow they 
had a feeling that they wanted to be on the spot 
so there would be no possible chance of missing 
the train. When it finally drew in and they 
climbed aboard, the reaction was so great that 
both fell instantly asleep and did not wake up un- 
til they stopped at Baird, six hours later for sup- 
per. 

Stepping off the train at Fort Worth, shortly 
after ten, Curly was a little bewildered. In all 
his life he had never seen a settlement larger than 
Amarillo, with its scant two thousand of popula- 
tion, and the sights and sounds and crowds of 
people here were rather confusing. Homer knew 
the ropes, however, and led the way to a hotel 
where he had stopped before. The train for Gal- 
veston left at seven in the morning, and the trip 
of twelve hours was quite uneventful. Reach- 
ing the latter city, they put up at a cheap hotel 
and after supper repaired to their room to dis- 
cuss the situation. 

“It ’s not going to be such an easy job as I 
thought,” confessed Curly. “I had an idea we 
could find out about this Graham from ’most any- 
body, but I can see that would n’t do at all; they ’d 
think we were locoed. ’ ’ 

He caught his boot-heels on the rung of the chair 
and for a moment or two sat in meditative silence, 


216 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


his chin resting in his open palms. Then he 
looked up at Homer and smiled faintly. 

“I don’t guess I like cities very well, kid,” he 
said slowly. “They make a fellow feel awful 
small. Out on the plains when you see a chap 
’way off in the distance somewhere, you wonder 
right away who he is, and most generally you meet 
up with him, and say howdy, and chin a bit. Here, 
you run into somebody about every five feet, and 
they look like they want to eat you up. Why, you 
can’t even carry a gun!” 

“You sure can’t — unless you want to be pulled 
in, ’ ’ Homer returned. 

“That ’s another thing. I can understand 
sheriffs, and all that, getting a fellow when he ’s 
really done something, like shooting a man or 
rustling cattle, but to be pulled in for carrying a 
gun — humph!” Curly’s tone was one of heart- 
felt disgust. 

“Well, cities are cities,” remarked Homer 
philosophically, “and you can’t expect ’em to be 
like the open range. I wouldn’t live-in one for 
money, but they ’re not bad once in a while for a 
change. This isn’t getting down to business, 
though. It seems to me the men we want to round 
up are lawyers. When a man dies, it ’s lawyers 
who always look after his property, and I propose 


THE SEARCH FOR A NAME 217 


we make a list of all the lawyers in town, and to- 
morrow start and look them up.” 

“How the deuce are you going to make a list 
like that?” Curly’s wrinkled brows betrayed his 
perplexity. 

“Out of the directory,” Homer returned 
promptly. “Down in the office they ’ve got a book 
with the names and addresses of everybody in 
Galveston. I ’ll borrow it and we can copy the 
list out now.” 

He was gone some time, but at last returned 
with the volume, having had considerable difficulty 
in persuading the clerk to let him take it away 
from the desk. It was then seen that even 
Homer’s wordly wisdom had greatly underesti- 
mated the amount of legal talent supported by the 
city of Galveston. Four closely printed pages 
were given up to the profession, and it was long 
past midnight before they had laboriously copied 
the list of some three hundred names. Curly 
threw the pen viciously across the room and 
worked his cramped fingers back and forth solicit- 
ously. 

“It ’ll take about three months to round up that 
bunch,” he said tartly. 

“Oh, it ’s not as bad as that.” Homer was 
more optimistic. “It ’s a big job, of course, but 


218 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

probably we won’t liave to go through the whole 
list. Maybe we ’ll strike somebody the first day 
who can tell us what we want. ’ ’ 

They made an early start next morning — much 
too early, in fact, for they soon found that none 
of the offices were open till nine o’clock. They 
were well on their rounds at ten. Two hours 
later, coming out of a big office building on Jones 
Street, they crossed to a little park and sank down 
on a bench in silence. 

Both were too mad to speak. In those two hours 
they had visited the offices of eight law firms. At 
six they had been cross-examined by the office boy, 
who could see no profit accruing to the firm by 
their presence, and consequently got rid of them 
quickly. At the next address a snippy clerk 
learned their business and curtly informed them 
that there was 4 4 nothing doing. ’ ’ They could hear 
his empty-headed laugh as they closed the door, 
and Curly hesitated in the hall, his fists clenched 
“For five cents I ’d go back and teach that fel- 
low manners, ’ ’ he muttered. 

Homer took his friend by the arm. 4 4 Come on ; 
what ’s the use ? You could n ’t teach him manners 
if you stayed here the rest of your life.” 

At the last office, through some carelessness on 
the part of a subordinate, they had stumbled in 
upon the head of the firm. But they came swiftly 


THE SEARCH FOR A NAME 219 

out again with tingling ears and hands straying 
unconsciously to where their guns ought to be. 

“I can’t stand much more of that,” Curly said 
presently, as he pushed a pebble about with the toe 
of his boot, 

“I don’t see why they ’re such a bunch of coy- 
otes,” complained Homer plaintively. “Why 
can’t they give a fellow a decent answer to a 
simple question? It wouldn’t take up so much 
of their darned valuable time.” 

Curly made no answer, but his face was ex- 
pressive. “Well, let ’s get something to eat,” he 
said presently. “I s’pose we ’ll have to keep on 
with this afterwards, but I sure hate it like poi- 
son.” 

In the restaurant they took out the list and with 
the stub of a pencil viciously obliterated- the names 
of the offending firms. Then they looked over 
the others. 

“Let ’s take a plain man next,” Curly sug- 
gested. “Those fresh guys this morning were all 
‘and Cos.’ or ‘and Sons.’ Here ’s a good one: 
‘John Popham, 607 Lombard Street.’ He sounds 
pretty good to me. Maybe he won ’t have all those 
fresh kids around to give you sass.” 

Lombard Street was near at hand, and Number 
607 proved to be a big office building, even more 
solid and substantial and splendid than any they 


220 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


had yet seen. With sinking hearts they surveyed 
it, and presently discerned the name of John Pop- 
ham neatly done in gold on a number of windows 
on the third floor. It did not look encouraging, 
and they decided to take a walk around the block 
before going in. 

They made the circuit several times and it was 
nearly two o ’clock before they summoned courage 
to enter the somberly gorgeous hallway. By this 
time they had become accustomed, though not re- 
signed, to the elevator, and in a moment they 
stepped out on the third floor before John Pop- 
ham’s door. The ante-room they entered was 
lined with leather-cushioned chairs and settees, 
and a mahogany rail separated it from the larger 
office. A sleek, well-brushed young man with an 
abnormal collar and the air of one perennially 
tired, came forward languidly and inquired their 
business. 

“Is Mr. Popham in?” Curly asked briefly. 

“No; Mr. Popham is at lunch.” 

“Will he be back soon?” 

“Really can’t say; he may, or he may not.” 
Mr. Popham ’s movements seemed a matter of com- 
plete indifference to the young man. 

Curly hesitated. “Perhaps you can help us,” 
he said at length. “I ’m trying to find out about 
a man named Graham who died here fifteen years 


221 


THE SEARCH FOR A NAME 

ago. He left a lot of money, and I thought you 
might know about him.” 

The young man imperfectly concealed a yawn. 
“Really, the name is not familiar. Graham, you 
say? What was his first name?” 

“I don’t know,” Curly confessed. “But I think 
another man, Paul Graham, had something to do 
with the estate.” 

“I ’m afraid I can’t help you,” the other said, 
examining his well-kept nails. “Perhaps some 
time when Mr. Popham is in — ” he concluded 
vaguely. 

Curly turned away with a sign and they walked 
to the door. Homer had half opened it when a 
voice behind them spoke suddenly. 

“Wait!” 

As he turned swiftly, Curly saw standing to one 
side of the rail a man of middle height with thick 
white hair and a trim, erect figure. There was 
a door in the corner with the word “Private” 
printed on the ground glass, and the man’s hand 
rested on the knob as if he had just stepped from 
an inner room. For a moment he did not speak. 
His keen, blue eyes were fixed on Curly’s face with 
an expression of mingled surprise and curiosity. 
Then his hand dropped to his side and he took a 
step forward. The clerk had retired and they 
were quite alone. 


222 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


“ Young man, would you mind telling me your 
name?” 

The voice was clear and well modulated; the 
man’s manner courteous, yet with an underlying 
touch as of one used to the ordering of men. As 
he hesitated to answer, the thought flashed on 
Curly that this must be Mr. Popham himself. 

“I — don’t — know,” he said in a low tone, his 
eyes fixed wistfully on the other ’s face. ‘ ‘ That ’s 
what I ’m trying to find out. ’ ’ 

“You spoke of Paul Graham just now. Has 
he anything to do with it?” 

“I think so.” 

The other turned briskly and opened the door 
behind him. “Step in here, please,” he said. 
“Your friend, too, if he will. I am John Pop- 
ham. ’ ’ He hesitated a moment and then went on 
slowly: “I think you have come to the right 
place. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XXV 


JOHN POPHAM, ATTOENEY 

A S the two boys crossed the threshold, Mr. 

Popham followed them and closed the door. 
The room in which they found themselves was 
square and lofty with windows looking out upon 
two streets. The walls were wainscoted in dark 
mahogany, above which hung a number of pictures. 
On the floor was a dark rug, thick, soft, luxurious. 
A mahogany desk stood by one of the windows, 
and back of it was a broad, massive mahogany 
table, while scattered about the room were a num- 
ber of comfortable leather-cushioned chairs. It 
was all very different from anything the boys had 
ever seen, and they stood embarrassed, not know- 
ing quite what to do, until Mr. Popham had re- 
moved his hat and coat and hung them in a closet. 

“Pray be seated,” he said, with a little touch 
of courtliness which seemed characteristic. When 
they had settled themselves, he sat down in the 
desk chair and, tilting it hack a little, surveyed 
Curly quizzically. “And now let us have the 
story, ’ ’ he said pleasantly. 

223 


224 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


4 4 It ’s very long, and I don’t know just where 
to begin.** Curly looked worried. 4 4 Would you 
mind if I asked you a question or two first? It 
would sort of clear things up in my own mind 
and I ’ll be able to talk easier. ’ ’ 

4 4 Not at all.” A fleeting smile passed over the 
old gentleman’s face. 4 4 It rather reverses the 
general procedure, but ask away. ’ ’ 

4 4 Did you know Paul Graham?” Curly began 
hesitatingly. 

44 I did.” Mr. Popham’s mouth squared a lit- 
tle. 

4 4 Was there another man named Graham, who 
died here about fifteen years ago and left 
Paul Graham — ex — executor, I think you call 
it.” 

Mr. Popham nodded. 4 4 There was.” 

4 4 Did this other — Graham, have a daughter and 
— and a son — ” The boy’s voice shook a little, — 
4 4 and was the son kidnapped ? ’ ’ 

The smile faded from the lawyer’s face. One 
hand resting on the chair arm gripped it suddenly. 
His eyes, bright as stars, were fixed on Curly’s as 
if he would like to drag the very thoughts out of 
the boy’s brain. 

4 4 Yes,” he said abruptly. 4 4 Why do you ask 
that? What was this Graham to you?” 

44 I think — I think he was my father.” 


JOHN POPHAM, ATTORNEY 225 

“A-h!” Mr. Popham ’s eyes narrowed and he 
bent forward. “I knew it ! ? ’ 

With which surprising remark, he sank back in 
his chair and surveyed the astonished boy over his 
joined fingertips. 

Curly looked at him open-mouthed. “You — 
knew — it ? ’ ’ he stammered. 

“I suspected it,” Mr. Popham returned com- 
posedly. “And now, if these are all the ques- 
tions you want to ask, let us have the story. Tell 
me everything.” 

There were still several things which Curly 
simply ached to know, but he managed to curb his 
curiosity and began his story. He told first of 
his life with Jerry Harden, of the latter’s attitude 
toward him, and of his failure to learn anything 
about his parents. Mr. Popham listened intently ; 
now and then he nodded, and once or twice he 
asked a question. Then Curly went on to narrate 
the circumstances of Jerry’s death and of his own 
flight to the Circle Bar. When he had told of his 
first meeting with Paul Graham, the lawyer put up 
one hand. 

“Stop a moment. His manner was odd, you 
say. In what way?” 

“Well, it just looked a little queer when he found 
my name was Harden. That ’s what I ’ve always 
been called, you know. ’ ’ 


226 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

“But why should that affect him? What had 
he to do with this — Harden ? ’ ’ 

“Oh! I forgot I hadn’t come to that. Why, 
he had Jerry kidnap me, you know.” 

“What!” Mr. Popham sat bolt upright, his 
eyes wide open with amazement. 

“Yes; the letters we found in the tin box told 
about that.” 

“Letters! You have letters?” 

At that moment the door to the outer office 
opened and the sleek young man hesitated on the 
threshold. Mr. Popham turned impatiently. “I 
can see no one, Mr. Wilson — no one, you under- 
stand?” he said sharply. “I am most particu- 
larly engaged.” 

With a bewildered glance at the two boys, quite 
out of keeping with his habitual expression of 
ennui, the youth retired and closed the door. 
Curly, meanwhile, had taken out the letters and 
laid them on the desk, and Mr. Popham pounced 
on them like a cat on a mouse. With a single 
movement of his slim fingers he twitched them 
open, laid them in a row, and selecting the one of 
the earliest date, began to read. As his eyes flew 
back and forth over the closely written lines, the 
color came and went in his thin, kindly face ; his 
jaw squared. Once he murmured “Scoundrel!” 


JOHN POPHAM, ATTORNEY 227 

under his breath. At length he laid the letter 
down and looked at Curly. 

‘ ‘ Jim ! ’ ’ he said contemptuously. i ‘ So that was 
his name. J im what ? ’ ’ 

“I don’t know his last name. I think he was 
Dandy Jim, the outlaw. I heard — ” 

‘ 4 W ait, ’ ’ interrupted the lawyer. ‘ ‘ Let me read 
the others. ’ 

There was silence again while Mr. Popham 
scanned the other letters. Then he laid them in a 
neat pile, placed a bronze weight on them, and sat 
back in his chair. 

“A more dastardly, cold-blooded plot I have 
never encountered, * 9 he said in a hard voice. “I 
always disliked the man; I must have mistrusted 
him instinctively. But I never thought of this. 
Now tell me; where did you get these letters V 9 

“We dug them up,” Curly answered. “I re- 
membered — But hadn’t I better go back and 
tell about the other things at the ranch?” 

“To be sure. Go on from where you left off — 
where the man recognized you. ’ ’ 

So Curly told briefly of the various accidents 
at the ranch, of his overhearing the conversation 
from the harness room window, of their journey 
back to Midland, and of all that had happened 
there. 


228 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

“ Quite in keeping,* ’ commented Mr. Popham. 
“A man quite devoid of any moral sense. To 
think of that child having been under his influ- 
ence all these years ! It ’s appalling ! * * 

Curly gave a start. “You mean Ja — Doro- 
thy ?” he asked anxiously. “You don’t think 
she ’s in any danger, do you!” 

“Not now. She ’s safe for the time being, but 
we must get her away as soon as possible. The 
first thing, however, is to verify this handwriting.” 

He pressed one of a row of buttons on his desk 
and a moment later a tall, stoop-shouldered man 
of middle age entered. 

“Mr. Perry, will you kindly bring me the Gra- 
ham Estate papers? Colonel Graham, you 
know. ’ ’ 

The other withdrew and presently returned with 
a good-sized box of japanned tin which he placed 
on the desk in front of Mr. Popham. The latter 
opened it at once and began turning over the con- 
tents. 

“He was careful about writing,” he remarked. 
“The few letters I had from him were mostly 
typed, but I remember one — Ah, here it is.” 

He unfolded a paper and spreading it out be- 
side the longest of the three letters compared 
them closely. Presently he looked up at Curly 
and there was a note of triumph in his voice. 



The lawyer pounced eagerly on the letters 








JOHN POPHAM, ATTORNEY 229 

“Identical !” lie exclaimed. “The rascal 
hasn’t even attempted to disguise his handwrit- 
ing. I think that settles this part of the story be- 
yond a doubt. As for yourself — ” He paused 
and tapped the desk meditatively. “Of course, 
while personally I have no doubt whatever that you 
are the son of my old friend, Colonel Graham, 
proof will be necessary to establish that fact 
legally. It would be most satisfactory if we could 
obtain the testimony of some one who knew of 
the actual kidnapping, but aside from this im- 
postor himself I doubt whether there is any one 
alive who could give it. Failing that, I suppose 
there are persons who have known you from child- 
hood, and could swear that you have lived with 
this Jerry Harden for a certain number of years, 
and are the only child with whom he has ever been 
concerned ? ’ ’ 

‘ 1 Oh, yes, ’ ’ Curly said readily. ‘ 4 There are two 
or three ranchmen who could do that. ’ ’ 

“Taken in conjunction with these letters, and 
with certain other things,” Mr. Popham contin- 
ued, “I believe that would be sufficient to establish 
your identity. And now, I suppose you are eager 
to have me round out the story.” 

He paused, and turning in his chair, looked down 
upon the crowded street below. And though his 
eyes seemed to be fixed upon the hurrying throngs, 


230 CTJBLY OF THE CIECLE BAK 


he did not see them, for liis mind was travelling 
swiftly into the long vanished past. Presently 
he gave a little sigh and glanced back at the boy 
who sat motionless, waiting eagerly for him to 
speak. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS 

“ T KNEW your father,’ ’ the lawyer began slowly, 
X “ better, I think, than any man alive. We were 
chums together at college. You are very like him, 
boy.” His eyes were wistful as they travelled 
over the lithe, well-knit figure and rested finally 
on the clean-cut, sun-browned face with its stead- 
fast, eager eyes and masses of tawny hair. “It 
was a shock to come upon you outside. I can’t 
get used to it.” He moved restlessly. 

“After graduation we separated, but met here 
two years later, and to within six months of his 
death we were the closest friends. It was then 
that we had a — disagreement. It was over a 
trivial matter — so trivial, that I do not even re- 
member how it came about. I was not well and 
when we quarrelled was upon the point of sailing 
to Europe for my health. I never saw him again. 
When I returned he had been dead two months.” 

He put up one hand to shade his eyes and for a 
few moments was silent. “Your father’s name 
was James — James Graham,” he continued. 
“His title came from the state militia. He in- 

231 


232 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

herited some money, but made the greater part 
in real estate investments here and in Chicago. 
He had a younger brother Paul, of whom he was 
very fond but whom he saw little. I never knew 
him. I gather that he was a man of lovable na- 
ture but very little force of character. I know he 
never made a success of life, but spent his time, 
mainly in the West, going from one place to 
another and dabbling in many enterprises. When 
your father died it was found that he had drawn 
up a new will after my departure in which his 
brother was made co-executor with the Galveston 
Trust Company, and guardian of the two children. 
I always felt that save for that stupid quarrel he 
would have made me executor, and all this trouble 
would have been averted. At that time you were 
not quite three years old and Dorothy was a baby. 

“When I returned home Paul Graham had not 
been located, though strenuous efforts were be- 
ing made to find him in Arizona and New Mexico 
where he had last been heard from. Not three 
days later you were stolen one afternoon in the 
Park from under your nurse’s very eyes. It 
caused a tremendous sensation and for a time the 
city rang with it. But in spite of all the rewards 
and searchings and the publicity given it by the 
press, not a trace of you was discovered from that 
day to this. 


AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS 233 

“Nearly two months passed in unavailing 
search for your uncle, and then one day he sud- 
denly walked into my office. He explained that 
he had been very ill in western Texas, and only 
some time after he had recovered did he see acci- 
dentally the news of his brother’s death and of 
the search for himself. He had a number of let- 
ters from your father, his photograph and one of 
yours sent when you were about a year old. He 
seemed perfectly familiar with every detail of 
your father’s life, and his account of his own 
wanderings corresponded exactly with what I had 
heard from your father’s own lips. He even went 
so far as to look up a friend of his youth — a man 
quite above suspicion — and convinced him that he 
was Paul Graham. It was one of the cleverest 
cases of impersonation I have ever heard of. The 
scoundrel must have pumped the real Paul Gra- 
ham absolutely dry before his death. He may 
have done away with him, but I question whether 
that was necessary. Of course the fraud suc- 
ceeded the more easily because no one had the least 
suspicion that all was not right.” 

“I thought you said you suspected him,” Curly 
said hesitatingly. 

“I disliked him,” Mr. Popham returned. 
“Suspicion is, perhaps, too strong a term. There 
was not a flaw in his story and you must remem- 


234 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


ber I had no reason whatever for doubting it. 
There is one point, though, which we all seem to 
have overlooked. The real Paul Graham was 
weak and visionary, with no business acumen what- 
ever, while this impostor showed great acuteness 
from the start. I have heard that he has more 
than doubled the value of the estate in these fif- 
teen years.” 

“I wonder he did n’t try to make away with it,” 
said Curly. 

‘‘That was probably his intention at first, but 
the appointment of the trust company as co-ex- 
ecutor made that impossible. Later, when he 
found how well the imposition worked, I imagine 
he grew to enjoy the position of a man of affairs, 
and with each succeeding year, of course, he felt 
more secure. But we have him in a corner now.” 

Mr. Popham arose and began pacing slowly back 
and forth, his hands clasped behind him. Pres- 
ently he stopped in front of Curly. 

“It ’s a little difficult to know just what steps 
to take, ’ ’ he said meditatively. “We must pounce 
on him without warning or he ’ll slip out of our 
hands. Besides, there should be no delay in get- 
ting Dorothy away from him. Fortunately I have 
his Chicago address. Whenever they have been in 
Galveston I ’ve made a point of keeping in touch 
with the child, and something like a friendship has 


AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS 235 

grown up between us. Do you think they have 
left the ranch by this timer’ 

“1 should think so. They were to start north 
the day after we left. We could make sure by tele- 
graphing Bert.” 

“No, that would only put him on his guard.” 
Mr. Popham sat down at his desk and took up a 
pen. “If he is at all suspicious of what has hap- 
pened, he ’d naturally hurry back to the city to 
snatch what he could from the wreck. I think you 
had better run up to Chicago to-morrow. I shall 
swear out a warrant at once charging him with 
forgery, impersonation, embezzlement — any one of 
half a dozen charges will do. A detective can go 
with you and one of my own men. They should 
be able to handle the situation. Your part will be 
mainly to look after Dorothy.” 

“Couldn’t we start to-night?” Curly asked 
anxiously. 

1 t Hardly. I doubt whether I can arrange things 
so soon. You ’d better be here to-morrow at eight 
prepared to take the train an hour later. I should 
like to have you both come home to dinner with 
me,” he added, as Curly arose and picked up his 
hat, “but I shall be so busy here that I ’ll just take 
a bite downstairs when I ’m through. There ’ll 
be plenty of time for us to get acquainted when this 
is settled.” 


236 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

Curly took a step forward and held out his hand. 
“You ’ve been awfully good, Mr. Popharn,” he 
said earnestly. “I can’t take it all in now. It 
does n ’t seem possible that so much has happened 
since I came in here. I can’t ever thank you 
enough. ’ ’ 

“Nonsense, my boy,” the lawyer said briskly, 
as he stood up. “I ’d do a great deal more for 
your father’s sake — and for yours, too. I think 
we shall be great friends. Well, good-by until to- 
morrow — Jim.” 

With a smile and a wave of his hand for Homer, 
he sat down again, and as they closed the door be- 
hind them the boys saw him press one of the ivory 
buttons and heard a muffled buzz in the outer of- 
fice. They did not speak until they stepped out 
of the elevator. Then Homer grabbed Curly by 
one hand and thumped him on the back. 

“Oh, boy!” he exclaimed delightedly. “Some 
business, all right! I had an awful job keeping 
still up there ; I just about burst. ’ ’ 

“I don’t seem real at all,” Curly commented. 
“I feel as if I was having one of those dreams you 
wake up from just about the time it ’s getting in- 
teresting. ’ ’ 

Homer laughed. “You ’ll wake up all right 
when you get that money. Think of owning the 
ranch and having Jack for a sister.” 


AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS 


237 


“That ’s the best part of it all. ,, Curly’s tone 
was a little sober. “I ’ve never had anyone at 
all belonging to me — and she ’s such a corking 
sort.” 

“She is that — the best ever. Well, I don’t sup- 
pose you ’ll have any use now for a poor, ornery 
cow man.” 

Curly made a pass at him. “You go to blazes! 
If I hear any more talk like that I ’ll punch your 
head good and proper.” 

“You don’t dare,” chuckled Homer. “You ’d 
get pulled in, and then you could n’t go to Chicago. 
Say, am I going to be taken along on that excur- 
sion?” 

Curly eyed him threateningly. “Do you know 
you ’re one of the most exasperating persons for 
your size I know of? Why shouldn’t you go 
along? Don ’t you want to ? ” 

‘ ‘ Sure I do. ” Homer ’s eyes danced. ‘ ‘ Only, I 
thought — ” 

“Don’t do it. It ’s a bad habit. Stop jawing 
and let ’s get some clothes. We ’ve got to look 
dead swell if we ’re going to travel with one of 
Popham’s clerks.” 

They had paused in the doorway of the build- 
ing, and now Curly took his friend by an arm and 
they joined the throng of people who filled the 
street, a jostling, home-going stream. As they 


238 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


hesitated on the pavement, undecided, a man 
slipped past them and darted across the street. 
Curly caught only a glimpse of his side face, but 
that glimpse was enough. 

‘ ‘ Shifty ! 9 1 he gasped. ‘ ‘ Homer — quick ! There 
goes Shifty Harris !” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE DESEKTED ELAT 

W HERE?” demanded Homer excitedly. 
“Which one?” 

“There; crossing the street. The fellow in the 
black suit.” 

Instantly they started in pursuit, but by the 
time they had reached the further curb, the man 
had disappeared. They hurried around the next 
comer and halfway down the side street, but could 
find no trace of the fellow. After half an hour’s 
fruitless search, they decided that they were only 
wasting time. 

“He ’s given us the slip,” Homer sighed, as 
they walked slowly back to Lombard Street. 
“Are you sure it was Shifty?” 

i i Of course I am. I ’d know that nose of his any 
place.” 

“I s’pose he ’s after those letters.” Homer 
chuckled. 4 ‘ He ’ll have a nice time getting them. ’ ’ 
“Won’t he? Say, kid, this looks like a place 
where we could get fitted out. ’ ’ 

Homer eyed the expanse of plate glass dubi- 
ously. “Seems like a mighty swell joint for us,” 

239 


240 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


he objected. “How much have you got to blow 
in?” 

“About two hundred. I haven’t spent hardly 
any of that money of Jerry’s. I tell you what. 
We ’ll pool our money and both get the same out- 
fit. It ’ll want to be pretty good, considering 
where we ’re going, and everything.” 

It took a good deal of persuasion to induce 
Homer to agree, but he finally gave in and they 
spent some time examining the suits and other 
articles so artfully displayed in the windows. At 
length they entered the store, and when they 
emerged an hour later Shifty himself would 
hardly have recognized them. They both wore 
suits of dark blue cheviot. Their high-heeled 
boots had been replaced by shoes; their flannel 
shirts by soft white ones with low turnover col- 
lars of stiff linen, and blue ties. The only things 
they had retained were their Stetsons, and both 
of them felt rather self-conscious and extremely 
uncomfortable. The first feeling soon wore off, 
but it was a long time before they could accustom 
themselves to the confinement of a collar. Re- 
turning to the hotel, they left their bags in the 
room, had supper, and after a short walk, went to 
bed. 

A little before eight next morning they pre- 
sented themselves at Mr. Popham’s office and were 


THE DESERTED FLAT 


241 


at once ushered in. After greeting them warmly, 
he presented them to the two men who were with 
him at the time : Mr. Bashford, the detective, and 
John Stuart, the lawyer’s assistant. After a few 
moments’ conversation, Curly told them of the en- 
counter with Shifty Harris, and Mr. Popham 
frowned his annoyance. 

‘ 4 That ’s bad — very bad,” he said, tapping the 
desk with a pencil. ‘ ‘ Graham ’s right-hand man, ’ ’ 
he explained in answer to Bashford ’s lifted eye- 
brows. “No doubt he ’s keeping the villain 
posted.” 

“Hum — yes,” boomed the detective, whose loud, 
hearty voice quite matched his appearance. “ I ’in 
afraid he may give us a chase.” 

“Well, do the best you can,” said Mr. Popham. 
“The most important thing, of course, is to find 
Miss Graham; but we must n’t let the wretch slip 
through our fingers. You ’d better be getting on. 
You understand everything, Stuart? Good.” 
He turned to Curly. “Good-by, Jim,” he said, 
taking the boy’s hand. “Mr. Stuart will see to 
everything. Come back here as soon as you find 
Dorothy, and we ’ll decide about future arrange- 
ments. Good-by, and good luck.” 

Somewhat to the boys’ surprise, instead of tak- 
ing the elevator, they walked down one flight and 
Mr. Bashford led the way along a hallway which 


242 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


ran the entire depth of the building. At the end 
of this they turned into a short branch hall and 
finally went down a narrow flight of stairs which 
brought them out at the rear on quite a different 
street. 

“We ’ll keep that friend of yours guessing if 
he ’s out front,” explained the detective with a fat 
chuckle. ‘ ‘ By the time he wakes up we ’ll be off.” 

Making their way rapidly through several 
streets, they reached the station and went at once 
aboard the train. Stuart had secured space that 
morning, and when they steamed slowly out of the 
shed a little later they settled themselves comfort- 
ably for the long journey. 

While quite without incident, this proved far 
from tedious. Mr. Bashford was jolly and full 
of fun — not in the least like their notion of a 
typical detective. They liked John Stuart, too, 
from the first, and Curly had several long talks 
with him and learned many additional particulars 
of his father’s life. 

Thus Saturday and Sunday passed, and the in- 
terest was increased by the novelty of it all, and 
by the unaccustomed mode of travelling. But 
when breakfast was over on Monday morning and 
they realized that they were less than six hours 
from Chicago, the stories and jokes became rather 
less frequent and finally ceased altogether, as each 


243 


THE DESERTED FLAT 

one of the oddly assorted quartette fell to silently 
speculating as to what the end of the journey would 
bring forth. 

The anxieties of Bashford and of John Stuart 
were, of course, mainly professional. The former 
wanted to “nail” the criminal, as he expressed it; 
the latter was principally concerned in securing 
the estate from any chance of pillage. But Curly 
gave no thought to the money and very little to 
the false Paul Graham. His one idea was to find 
his sister and save her from any possibility of 
harm, and in this particular Homer was at one 
with him. To them the last few hours of their 
journey seemed to drag out interminably. 

But it came to an end at last, and shortly after 
two the train pulled into the station on Polk Street. 
Alighting hastily, they tumbled into a taxi and 
were driven rapidly to the Police Headquarters. 
There was a short delay here while Mr. Bashford 
displayed his credentials and explained his er- 
rand. But at the end of that time he appeared 
with a plain-clothes man and they started at once 
for the address Dorothy had given the boys. This 
proved to be a fashionable apartment-house a short 
distance from the drive, into which Bashford and 
the officer disappeared, leaving the others outside. 
In about ten minutes the detective came out alone. 

“He ’s skipped,” he announced tersely, resting 


244 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


his arms on the window of the taxi. ‘ 4 Went two 
days ago. Syms is telephoning for a search war- 
rant.’ ’ 

“Has — has my sister gone, too?” Curly asked 
anxiously. 

“Yes, both of them. The hall boy says that 
about noon on Saturday he came in in a hurry and 
on the way up in the elevator told him he had to 
leave for Denver that afternoon. About two he 
ordered a taxi, and when it appeared, he and Miss 
Graham came down and drove away. Graham 
carried two suitcases, and your sister a handbag. 
The boy saw nothing strange in this, since they 
often went away together.” 

“Denver!” exclaimed Curly. “We can follow 
them, then. We ought to get started right away. ’ 7 

Bashford pushed his hat down over one eye. 
“No hurry, son,” he said dryly. “Wherever 
they went, you can bet it wasn’t Denver. You 
don’t suppose he ’d blab it to the hall boy, do 
you? That was only a blind, and a mighty poor 
one.” 

Curly looked rather crestfallen, but the detec- 
tive added quickly: “As soon as we get into the 
place, we ’ll overhaul it thoroughly and perhaps 
find out a thing or two. Don ’t worry, boy. Your 
sister won’t come to any harm. I don’t see why 


THE DESERTED FLAT 245 

he took her with him, in fact ; she ’ll only be in 
his way. ’ ’ 

Nevertheless, Curly did worry a good deal. It 
was maddening to have to sit there helpless with 
Dorothy in the hands of such a man, and probably 
travelling further and further away with every 
passing minute. Presently an officer appeared 
with the warrant and they all went up to the fourth 
floor, where the manager let them into the apart- 
ment with his pass key. 

It was an attractive suite, consisting of a large 
living-room with a smaller study opening out of 
it, three good-sized bedrooms and two baths, all 
of which were tastefully and even richly furnished. 
The study naturally claimed their attention first, 
and they found it in the greatest possible dis- 
order. Papers littered the floor and covered the 
top of a large desk. Several drawers had been 
hurriedly pulled out and lay face downward where 
they had fallen, the contents scattered on all sides. 
The door of a cabinet in one corner swung open, 
revealing only empty shelves behind. In the 
larger room a good- sized fireplace was filled with 
ashes, from which the officials were able to salvage 
only the charred stubs of several check books and 
the half-consumed covers of some large ledgers. 

While this examination was naturally of much 


246 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


interest to the others, Curly and Homer soon tired 
of it and went off to inspect the rest of the apart- 
ment. The bedrooms opened from a wide hallway, 
and the first one they entered was plainly Mr. Gra- 
ham’s. The masculine air of the appointments 
and the array of garments strewn about bore evi- 
dence of that ; and after a casual look around they 
passed on. A guest room came next, neat, austere, 
immaculate. Dorothy ’s room must be the last, and 
as they approached it Curly’s pulse quickened. 

A moment later, through the open door he took 
in the dainty furnishings, the graceful dresser 
covered with silver things, a dress thrown care- 
lessly over a chair, and a great wave of tenderness 
swept over him. The next instant he uttered a 
low exclamation, darted to the dresser and 
snatched up a scrap of paper which was fastened 
to the cushion with a pin. There was silence for 
a moment as his eager glance swept the hastily 
pencilled lines. Then he looked up, his eyes 
bright with excitement and fresh hope. 

“It’s from Jack!” he exclaimed. “They’ve 
gone to New Y ork — not Denver. Listen ! ’ ’ 

Something dreadful has happened, I know. Uncle has just 
come in and says we must leave for New York at once. His 
manner is so odd that I ’m almost afraid of him. He *s been 
acting curiously ever since we came back from Texas. He *s 
in the front room now tearing up papers and burning them, 
which makes me think something serious is the matter. I HI 


THE DESERTED FLAT 


247 


pin this to my cushion and if anyone finds it please send it 
to Mr. John Popham, Galveston, at once. If I find out that 
anything is really wrong, I ’ll try and wire Mr. Popham from 
New York. 

Dorothy Graham. 

“She ’s in New York!” exclaimed Curly. 
“Think of it! And we ’re hanging around here 
when every minute ’s precious. We may even be 
missing a train by loafing.” 

With the note in his hand, he stepped past 
Homer and hurried through the hall to the front 
room. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE END OF THE SEARCH 

T HAT girl ’s got a head on her shoulders, all 
right/ ’ Bashford said as he read the paper. 
6 ‘ New York, eh? We ’ll have to hustle to catch 
the flier.” He turned to the officer. “You can 
keep an eye on this place, can’t you?” 

‘ ‘ Sure. I ’ll have a man stay here till you get 
back. Better wire New York Headquarters, 
had n ’t you ? He might try to slip off on a liner. ’ ’ 
“I ’ll do that at the station.” 

The detective picked up his hat and coat and fol- 
lowed the others to the door. The taxi was still 
waiting outside and they reached the station in 
time for Bashford to get New York on the tele- 
phone and have five minutes’ talk with the Police 
Headquarters. 

‘ 1 They ’ll do the best they can, ’ ’ he remarked as 
he joined the others in the observation car. 
“Watch the piers and all that. But two days is 
a mighty long start. ’ ’ 

“Still, there ’s always the wireless,” commented 

248 


THE END OF THE SEARCH 249 


John Stuart. “The only trouble would be if he 
sailed for one of those South American countries 
where there ’s no extradition. ’ ’ 

Bashford subsided weightily into a chair. 
“We ’ll hope for the best,” he said, mopping his 
forehead. “It ’s a mighty hard thing these days 
to escape the law.” He looked quizzically at 
Curly. “Don’t worry so, son,” he said, smiling. 
“That sister of yours is n’t going to let herself be 
taken to South America, believe me. If he tries 
any stunt like that she ’ll give him the slip pretty 
quick, or I ’m very much mistaken. ’ ’ 

“But if she does, how will she find us?” Curly 
asked. 

“Through Popham. I wired him all about it 
and he ’ll let us know directly he hears from her.” 

This encouragement relieved Curly considerably 
and he was able to consider the future in a much 
more cheerful frame of mind. When they reached 
the Grand Central Station next morning matters 
were still further cleared up by a telegram which 
awaited the detective at the information bureau. 
It read as follows : 

Message received. Miss Graham at Holland House. See 
her at once. 

John Popham. 

Ten minutes later they entered the hotel and 
approached the desk. The clerk there could give 


250 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


them no information about Miss Graham, but re- 
ferred them to the manager. The latter was stiff 
at first with a touch of suspicion in his manner, 
but a few words of explanation from Stuart thawed 
him considerably. 

“Miss Graham is here alone and in our charge,” 
he explained. 4 ‘ Under the circumstances we have 
to be particular. If you will give me a card or 
note, I will have it sent up. ’ 9 

Stuart wrote a few words on his card, and they 
were ushered into a reception room. As Dorothy 
entered five minutes later, she paused in surprise. 
She had expected to see one man, and here were 
four. 

‘ ‘ Mr. Stuart ? ’ ’ she asked hesitatingly, and then 
she gave a low, startled cry. “Why, Curly!” she 
gasped dazedly. “I — Homer, too. I had no 
idea — ” 

She broke off, unable for a moment to speak. 
The shock of the unexpected meeting, combined 
with the sudden release of the tension under which 
she had labored so long, quite unnerved her, and 
for an instant she had to fight for self-control. 
When she had recovered she turned quickly to the 
boys. 

“I ’m a perfect idiot,” she said as she grasped 
their hands. 4 1 But it was a shock finding you here 
and I Ve — been a little worried lately.” She 


THE END OF THE SEARCH 


251 


smiled at them through her tears. “I can hardly 
believe it yet. I ’m very glad to meet you, Mr. 
Stuart, ’ ’ she went on as Curly presented the young 
lawyer. “And Mr. Bashford, too. It ’s really all 
so bewildering that you ’ll have to make allowances 
for my state of mind.” 

i ‘ Quite so, my dear young lady, ’ ’ boomed Bash- 
ford benevolently. “We can guess a little of what 
you ’ve been through.” He paused, glancing at 
the lawyer. “I think, Stuart, we had better leave 
our young friend here to explain matters. One 
man can do it much better than four. We ’ll take 
a look around and be back in half an hour. Your 
uncle is not with you, Miss Graham?” 

Dorothy looked startled. “No,” she said 
quickly. “No, he ’s not.” 

“You have no idea where he ’s gone?” 

‘ i None at all. I — I have n ’t seen him since Sun- 
day. I — ran away from him.” 

“Ah, then we shall lose nothing by this brief 
delay. ’ ’ 

Mr. Bashford bowed gallantly, and joined the 
others in the hall. As the heavy portieres fell into 
place behind him Dorothy turned and looked in- 
quiringly at Curly. Her face was pale and her 
eyes troubled. 

“What is it, Curly?” she asked hastily. 
“What ’s it all about? Uncle?” 


252 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

Curly hesitated. “It ’s quite a long story,’ ’ he 
said. ‘‘Let ’s sit down first.” When they had 
settled themselves on a sofa in the corner, he went 
on slowly: “Yes, it ’s partly about Mr. Graham, 
and— and partly about — me.” 

“You!” A look of distress came into her 
face. “There haven’t been any more — acci- 
dents?” 

“Oh, no,” he assured her. “Nothing like that. 
Gee ! I wish I had the gift of gab. I don’t know 
how to begin. ’ ’ 

She glanced at him mischievously. “Curly, 
dear, you ’re not going to propose, are you?” 

“I did have some such idea,” he grinned. 
“How would you like me for a brother?” 

“I ’d love it, of course. But do stop fooling and 
tell me what it ’s really all about. ’ ’ 

The laughter died out of his face, save for a 
whimsical, tender smile that curved the corners 
of his mouth. He bent forward earnestly, his 
brown, muscular hands clasped tightly over one 
knee. 

“I ’m not fooling, Jack,” he said slowly. “It ’s 
part of the story I have to tell you. ’ ’ 

As the girl looked at him closely, scrutinizingly, 
something in his eyes told her that he was speak- 
ing the truth. And as she continued to gaze into 
his face, the color slowly ebbed away from hers, 


THE END OF THE SEARCH 253 


her eyes grew wider, her lips half parted and her 
breath came a little unevenly. 

“I — don't — understand," she faltered. And 
then, quite suddenly, the truth came to her. 
“Curly!" she gasped. “You — you're not — my 
brother — who — who was — " 

“Yes," he answered simply. “The one who 
was stolen years ago. Are you sorry, Jack?" 

Her eyes were blinded by a sudden rush of tears. 
i ‘ Sorry ? ' ' she sobbed. “You dear, silly boy ! ' ' 

She fumbled for her handkerchief and, not find- 
ing it, she turned suddenly and hid her face against 
his shoulder. Curly stroked her hair gently, let- 
ting her cry on undisturbed. 

“If you only knew," she went on presently in 
a rather shaky voice, “how many, many nights 
I 've lain awake thinking about that poor little boy, 
and wondering what dreadful things might be 
happening to him — and to think it 's you, whom 
I 've always liked so much. Do give me your 
handkerchief ; I can 't find mine. ' ' 

She dabbed her eyes with it for a few moments 
in silence. Then all at once she sat up and stared 
at him. 

“Then he 's — your uncle, too," she said in a 
queer voice. “And yet he let you work there on 
the ranch under another name. I — I don't under- 
stand." 


254 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


4 ‘Of course you don’t, Jack, because that ’s part 
of the story, too. You see, he isn’t really our 
uncle at all. He ’s a man who somehow got hold 
of our real uncle’s papers and all that, and passed 
himself off for him. ’ ’ 

And as briefly as possible Curly went on to give 
her the details of the curious story. When he had 
finished she was bewildered, and small wonder; 
since in that brief half hour her whole world had 
turned topsy-turvy, and her very outlook upon life 
changed. But it was so distinctly a change for 
the better that she was not long cast down, and by 
the time the others returned she was quite her- 
self and able to give them an account of her own 
adventures. 

“I was afraid something was wrong from the 
first,” she began. “The way we left home was 
odd, and all the way here uncle hardly said a word 
and was quite cross when I asked him about it. 
Then there was the hotel — a horrid place on a side 
street when we have always stopped here. That 
seemed queer. Directly we were taken to our 
rooms he went out telling me not to stir until he 
came back. Why should he have done that unless 
something was the matter? Of course I stirred; 
anybody would. I waited till he had gone about 
ten minutes and then I went down and looked 
at the register. I found he had put us down as 


THE END OF THE SEARCH 255 


Mr. and Miss Gordon of Kansas City. Fancy! 
Then I was sure he ’d done something dreadful, 
and it frightened me a good deal. I could n’t get 
away quick enough. I hurried back and got my 
bag and walked out. Luckily no one paid any at- 
tention to me. For a while I could n ’t think what 
to do. I have n ’t any friends here, so I just walked 
and walked, afraid any minute he might see me. 
Then all at once I thought of this hotel where the 
manager knew me. It was stupid not to have 
thought of it before. I got on a bus and came 
straight here, and everything turned out beauti- 
fully. The manager was as nice as could be. He 
wired Mr. Popham himself and promised that if 
uncle came to inquire he would put him off and 
not tell him I was here. That ’s about all, I 
think. ’ ’ 

4 ‘ Then you have n ’t an idea where Mr. Graham 
went?” Bashford asked. 

Dorothy shook her head. “Not the slightest. 
I rather fancied he meant to take a steamer, but 
it was only guesswork.” 

“Well, we shall have to get busy.” Bashford 
arose and picked up his hat. “I ’ll go down to 
Headquarters at once.” He turned to Curly. 
“Are you going back to-day, or shall you stay 
here?” 

“I should think we might as well go back; we 


256 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

can’t do any good here. It ’s all up to Dorothy, 
though.” Curly looked at his sister, who nodded 
emphatically. 

“I don’t want to stay here any longer than we 
have to,” she said. 

“We may as well take the first train to Chicago, 
then. Mr. Popham told me to come back as soon 
as we found Dorothy, and I reckon you and Mr. 
Stuart can do all that ’s necessary here.” 

“I think so. There ’s really no need of your 
staying unless you want to. Well, I ’ll say 
good-by now, then. I shall probably be very busy 
for the rest of the day.” 

After he had gone Mr. Stuart remained only 
long enough to have a little talk with Curly and 
give him advice about the best roads to take. 
Then, having supplied him with money, he, too, 
departed. 

The three chums had dinner at the hotel and 
then took the night train back to Chicago. Here 
they made a flying visit to the apartment to get 
Dorothy’s clothes, and the day following found 
them speeding southward. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


EVER AFTERWARD 

A S Curly clattered around the ranch house 
and swung himself off his horse, Dorothy 
looked up with a smile. 

“Did you get a letter from Uncle John?” she 
asked. “What ’s he say? Is he coming to make 
us a visit?” 

Curly threw the reins over his horse ’s head and 
flung himself down beside his sister. “He can't 
get away just yet,” he said, pulling a much 
crumpled envelope out of his pocket. “He has a 
lot of important cases on hand.” 

“Isn’t he a dear old idiot! I believe he’s 
afraid of roughing it. He doesn’t realize how 
well he ’d be taken care of now we ’ve got all the 
modern improvements. ’ ’ Her eyes rested approv- 
ingly on the new wing and then swept over the 
rest of the house, glistening in a fresh coat of 
white paint. “What else does he say?” 

“Well, the case is over.” Curly spoke slowly. 
“He ’s been sentenced.” 

257 


258 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


Dorothy's face clouded a little. 

“How — much?" she asked. 

“Twenty years." 

She winced. “As long a s that ? ' ' 

“It 's practically for life, I suppose." 

For a space there was silence as the girl gazed 
out over the wide expanse of prairie, still green 
from the spring freshets, lying warm and golden 
in the hot June sun. Then her clear eyes, still 
slightly troubled, came back to Curly sprawling 
beside her, his head propped on his hand, his el- 
bow digging the sod. 

“I suppose I 'm a silly idiot," Ishe said, “but 
somehow I can't bring myself to hate him the way 
I ought to. He was always very good to me; I 
think he must have been fond of me. Does it seem 
very — feminine ? ' ' 

“Not enough to hurt." Curly settled himself 
luxuriously on his back, hands clasped under his 
head and hat tilted over his eyes. “I 'm glad 
enough he 's got his deserts and won't trouble us 
again, but I can understand how you feel. ' ' 

“Well, let 's not think about him any more. 
What about your case? Has the court given it 's 
final decision yet?" 

* ‘ Oh, yes ; I forgot that. Last Thursday, it was. 
I guess the affidavits from Ed Winton and the 
other fellows in Midland did the trick. Anyhow, 


EVER AFTERWARD 


259 


Mr. Popham’s my guardian, too, and I ’m your 
brother for better or worse. Y ou don ’t know what 
a peck of trouble you ’ve let yourself in for, old 
lady.” 

Dorothy smiled at the tall, sun-browned young 
fellow. i ‘You ’re running some risks yourself. 
You don’t know what a trial I am when I ’m in a 
temper — Drat!” She broke off suddenly as the 
thread snapped. “That ’s the fourth time. Oh, 
dear! I hate to sew.” 

Curly’s eyes crinkled. “*Why do you then?” 

“I ’ve got to,” she sighed. “Why, the poor 
child ’s in rags. Actually he has hardly a stitch 
to his name, and he can’t go on forever wearing 
your shirts and things. He looks ridiculous.” 

A sudden clatter of falling tinware came from 
the kitchen, followed by a shrill voice raised to an 
angry pitch. The next instant a small boy shot 
out of the door, hesitated an instant, and then 
scuttled over to Dorothy and nestled down beside 
her. In each fist he held a large cooky, one of 
which he hastened to cram down with amazing 
rapidity. Then Mrs. Reilly’s portly form loomed 
in the doorway. 

4 ‘ Thievin ’ little brat ! ” she exclaimed with vigor. 
Then her eyes fell on him. “Oh, there ye are. 
He ’s been at them cookies again, Miss Dorothy,” 
she complained, “an’ upset the whole pan on the 


260 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 

floor. It ’s whipped he ought to be, an’ taught 
manners. ’ ’ 

Dorothy stroked the towsled black head which 
was snuggled close against her. “But he ’s been 
whipped so many times, Mrs. Reilly,’ ’ she said 
apologetically, “and I don’t suppose he ever saw 
a cooky till he came here. You wait a while and 
he ’ll surprise you with his good manners.” 

Mrs. Reilly sniffed incredulously. “He will 
that,” she retorted. “Seein’ is believin’, miss. 
But he ’ll have to keep out of here. He ’s under 
foot the whole endurin’ time, and I can’t do my 
work proper.” 

“That ’s because he ’s so fond of you, Mrs. 
Reilly.” Though his tone was serious, Curly’s 
eyes twinkled mischievously. 

The good lady sniffed again, though with rather 
less emphasis, and without further words retired 
to the kitchen. 

“I think she ’ll come around in time,” said 
Dorothy, as she threaded the despised needle. 
“She has to hold out a while considering the fuss 
she made when he first came.” 

“Well, you ’re a nice, lazy bunch,” said a voice, 
and looking up they saw Homer standing at the 
corner of the house, hands in his pockets and hat' 
tilted rakishly over one eye. 

Dorothy looked indignant. “Lazy!” she ex- 


Dorothy found his eyes fixed on her with a look of wistful tenderness 





















































EVER AFTERWARD 


261 


claimed. “I wish yon had half the things to do 
in one day that I have. Lazy, indeed ! Yon don’t 
look very bnsy yourself if anyone should ask me.” 

Homer’s limpid eyes assumed a look of injured 
innocence. “I put myself out to see if you folks 
didn’t want to ride out to Charvis with me,” he 
murmured plaintively, “and this is the way I get 
thrown down. Why, hello, Buster. What are 
you hiding for?” 

The small boy did not answer at once. He was 
busy removing a few tell-tale crumbs from his 
mouth by a simple but effective sweep of his 
tongue. When the operation was completed, he 
rolled his eyes expressively toward the kitchen. 

“Got chased out,” he remarked briefly. 

Homer grinned approvingly. ‘ 4 There ’s the boy 
for you. Knows how to rustle for his grub al- 
ready. He ’ll make a dandy cow-puncher when 
he grows up.” 

“For goodness * sake don’t be putting such ideas 
into his head,” Dorothy protested as she folded 
up her work. “We have trouble enough with him 
now without your egging him on. Mrs. Reilly ’s 
very angry with him.” 

“She ’ll get over it,” said Homer lightly. 
“But, say! Hasn’t he changed, though? You 
wouldn’t know him for the same kid we brought 
home a month ago. He sure was a sight.” 


262 CURLY OF THE CIRCLE BAR 


“Why wouldn’t he be!” The girl sprang up 
and shook the threads from her skirt. “Left 
alone in that dreadful place — deliberately deserted 
by that beastly Shifty man and his gang ! It was 
the most inhuman thing I ever heard of. The 
poor child was half starved and nearly dead with 
fright.” 

Her face flushed angrily ; then she looked down 
at the child’s serious face raised to hers. “But 
that ’s all over and we won’t think about it any 
more. You boys saddle up and I ’ll be ready in 
a minute. Come, Kiddie, you ’ll have to stay with 
Mrs. Reilly while we ’re gone. ’ ’ 

The child took her hand obediently and they 
disappeared into the house. When she came out, 
ten minutes later, Curly was waiting at the door 
with Tawny, a shapely chestnut, whose crinkly 
white mane and tail were the joy of her heart. 
As she appeared, he pricked up his ears and whin- 
nied softly. 

“Greedy,” she reproved, as she stepped forward 
and took the reins. “It is n ’t me you love, it ’s 
sugar. ’ ’ 

The horse rubbed his soft nozzle against her 
cheek, and then playfully nipped the hand raised 
to stroke him. 

“There, take it.” She popped the sugar into 
his mouth, and as he crunched it, she turned to 


EVER AFTERWARD 263 

Curly and found his eyes fixed on her with a look 
of wistful tenderness and pride. 

“A penny for your thoughts,” she challenged 
gaily. 

Curly hesitated. “I was thinking what a 
mighty lucky chap I am, ’ ’ he said at length. 

“Lucky?” 

A faint flush tinged her cheeks and her fingers 
tangled themselves unconsciously in Tawny’s 
mane. 

4 4 Yes, to have found a sister — like you, and — 
all this.” He made a gesture with his hand. “1 
don’t deserve it.” 

4 4 Silly boy ! ’ ’ She smiled faintly. 4 4 Don ’t ever 
talk that way again — don’t even think it. It ’s 
I who am the lucky one.” 

Homer’s halloo reached them from the lower 
gate. Dorothy turned her stirrup and sprang 
lightly into the saddle. 

4 4 Coming!” she called. 

Curly followed her, and together they rode out 
of the shadow of the gnarled, old cottonwood into 
the golden sunlight of the summer day. 


THE END 


UNDER BOY 
SCOUT COLORS 

By Joseph B. Ames 

Author of ** Treasure of the Canyon/' etc. 

This fine story sets forth in a strong and vivid light the actual 
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hensive presentation of its purposes and methods. 

1 2 mo, 350 pages, 8 illustrations 
Price $1 .50 net 

At all Bookstores TU17 CV MTITBV 353 Fourth Avenue 

Published by I ilju V/Eill 1 UI\ I VV» New York City 


THE MYSTERY 
OF RAM ISLAND 

By JOSEPH BUSHNELL AMES 

Author of “ Under Boy Scout Colore n etc. 

A story of life in the open for boys by the author of the popu- 
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12mo, 266 pages , 8 illustrations by Forrest Owr 
Price $1.50 


At all Bookstores THf TUV 353 Fourth Avenue 

Published by 1 lUZi V/Jull 1 U1\I vv» New York City 


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